PARVATI 


A  ROMANCE  OF 
PRESENT-DAY  INDIA 


BY 

ROBERT  CHAUVELOT 


TRANSLATED  BY 
HELEN  DAVENPORT  GIBBONS 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1919 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
THE  CENTUKY  Co. 


Published,  September,  1919 


TO 
ALBERT  BESNARD 


2039575 


.  .  .  The    day    when    men    master    the    senses,    the 
Vindhya  Mountains  will  swim  across  the  ocean. 

— Kamasutra. 


PART  ONE 


PARVATI 


Back  of  us,  our  past  stretches,  a  long  perspective.     It 
sleeps  there,  in  the  distance,  like  an  abandoned  city  in  the 
mist.     A  few  mountain  peaks  outline  and  dominate  it. 
—  MAURICE  MAETERLINCK  :  Le  Temple  Enseveli. 


ILBERT  DESROCHES  was  getting 
VJT  Up  later  than  usual.  Rays  of  sunshine 
were  playing  in  the  bedroom  of  the  bungalow 
where  his  Highness  Bhagavat  Singh,  Maha- 
raja of  the  State  of  Jeypore,  had  installed 
him  a  few  days  before,  in  company  with  his 
friend  Noel  Verdier,  Orientalist  and  theoso- 
phist. 

Out  of  doors  was  the  splendor  of  the  morn- 
ing under  the  pure  sky  of  India.  The  velvet 
and  silk  of  multicolored  butterflies  rivaled  the 
flowers  in  the  garden  of  the  Guest  House. 

3 


4  PARVATI 

Turquoise  paroquets  and  emerald  parrots  flew 
about  and  chattered  in  the  branches  of  palms 
and  tufted  banana  trees.  Dominating  the 
symphony  of  shrill  cries  was  the  grave  and 
monotonous  cawing  of  crows. 

Gilbert  stretched  himself  on  his  couch, 
looked  at  the  time,  and  with  one  bound  stood 
on  the  leopard  skin  that  lay  on  the  floor. 

"Zahour!  Zahour!"  he  cried,  with  the  im- 
patience characteristic  of  the  Frenchman. 
"Ah!  the  brute,  the  animal!" 

A  bronzed  "boy,"  with  a  short  black  beard 
and  features  typical  of  a  despot,  appeared,  his 
head  adorned  with  a  pale  rose  turban  wound 
in  the  Mohammedan  fashion. 

"The  master  called  me?"  he  asked  in  irre- 
proachable English,  for  he  boasted  of  having 
accompanied  a  major  of  the  Fifty-seventh 
Wilde's  Rifles  for  a  year's  sick-leave  to  Liver- 
pool. 

"Did  n't  I  tell  you  last  evening  to  waken  me 
before  seven  o'clock?  Here  it  is  after  eight!" 

"Quite  true,  Sahib.  But  last  night  the  mas- 
ter was  late  going  to  sleep.  And  this  morn- 


PARVATI  5 

ing  I  had  to  clean  the  guns,  brush  the  khaki, 
take  spots  off  the  pongee  suit.  The,  master 
was  dozing  so  nicely,  I  did  not  dare — " 

"Come,  that's  all  right.     Help  me  now." 

The  servant  smiled  proudly,  like  an  august 
potentate  dispossessed,  and  began  to  dress  his 
master  with  an  Oriental  nonchalance  that 
never  left  him.  Gilbert  had  accustomed  him- 
self to  this  exasperating  indolence,  measur- 
ing against  it  the  exceptional  services  the 
worthy  Zahour  Mahomed  rendered  him  for 
so  little  pay.  Zahour's  distinguished  air 
pleased  him,  it  flattered  his  pride.  And  then, 
Gilbert's  imagination  had  been  refined  by  long 
experience  in  painting  the  portraits  of  beauti- 
ful Parisiennes. 

A  voice,  colorful  and  of  a  sympathetic  tim- 
bre, called  through  a  partition: 

"Gilbert!  Gilbert!  Your  appointment 
this  morning!  What  are  you  thinking  about? 
Are  you  counting  on  me  to  plead  for  you 
to  the  maharanee?  Mind  the  all-powerful, 
mind  the  foot  of  the  elephant!" 

"Easy  now,   Noel,   easy!     I'm   not   there 


6  PARVATI 

yet,  thank  God  I  I  'm  more  afraid  of  the  slow, 
sad  smile  of  my  model.  She  is  not  happy 
every  day,  poor  Parvati!  What  an  exist- 
ence 1" 

A  sigh  escaped  the  lips  of  the  young  man. 
He  was  standing  before  the  mirror  giving  a 
jaunty  turn  to  his  crava*.  For  a  few  minutes 
he  looked  at  his  pleasing  blond  face  in  the 
mirror.  The  well-shaven  chin  with  its  mu- 
tinous dimple — "a  nest  of  kisses"  the  little 
Baroness  Sejourne  had  called  it — and  the 
mustache  ends,  upturned  by  a  slight  touch  of 
the  curling-iron,  showed  the  care  Gilbert  took 
each  morning  with  his  toilet. 

The  warm  voice  began  again:  "I  do  not 
say — but  take  care !  Don't  go  too  far.  There 
is  nothing  in  it  for  either  of  you.  It  is  not 
like  the  baroness.  And  then,  the  game  is 
dangerous,  and  I  advise  you  not  to  play  it. 
Our  prince  takes  women  seriously,  especially 
his  own.  And  you  know,  since  the  death  of 
his  father,  he  is  absolute  sovereign  in  his 
state." 

"You  are  right,  but  what  can  I  do?     I  can't 


PARVATI  7 

resist  her.     The  more  I  see  of  her,  the  more  I 
pity-" 

"More  than  that,  you  are  in  love  with  her! 
You  cannot  deny  it.  I  can  see  through  you. 
I  know  you  as  though  I  had  made  you  myself. 
I  tell  you,  you  are  imprudent!" 
"Yes,  yes,  I  will  be  good,  my  dear  fellow!" 
Gilbert  Desroches  had  been  an  orphan  for 
many  years.  Although  he  had  passed  thirty, 
he  had  come  to  look  upon  Noel  as  upon  a 
father.  It  was  not  that  Gilbert  had  no  fam- 
ily ties.  He  had  the  affection  of  his  elder 
brother,  Dr.  Philippe  Desroches,  specialist  in 
nervous  diseases,  and  consulting  physician  of 
the  Salpetriere,  who  had  acquired  along  the 
line  of  his  science  a  legitimate  and  enviable 
reputation.  But  after  Philippe,  it  was  Noel 
Verdier,  the  companion  of  his  childhood,  who 
held  the  chief  place  in  the  heart  of  the  con- 
firmed bachelor.  Gilbert  had  grown  up, 
worked,  achieved  success,  with  these  two  men 
beside  him.  They  had  been  his  refuge.  His 
artist  soul  "had  looked  to  them  for  comfort,  for 
the  energy  that  he  lacked,  for  the  will  to  con- 


8  PARVATI 

quer  his  sensitive  nature.  In  the  struggle  for 
existence  these  valiant  workers  came  to  his  aid 
with  a  forceful  encouragement  that  was  vital 
to  him. 

The  intellectual  activity  of  Doctor  Des- 
roches  was  consecrated  to  the  mysteries  of 
physiological  study,  to  the  little-explored  field 
of  the  relation  between  the  mental  and  the 
physical,  called  by  believers  soul  and  body. 
The  ddttor  was  a  peaceable  unbeliever  and  in 
no  sense  sectarian.  In  technical  language,  he 
termed  them  "Brutal  matter  and  noble  ele- 
ments." 

Noel  Verdier!  What  a  striking  and  satis- 
fying contrast  to  Philippe,  the  smiling  atheist  1 
All  that  the  soul  of  a  neurologist  contains  of 
material  force,  circumscribed  in  the  neces- 
sarily restricted  field  of  immediate  and  tangi- 
ble experience,  Noel  possessed  superbly  in  the 
unlimited  domain  of  philosophy.  The  vo- 
cation of  theosophist  and  transcendental  oc- 
cultist came  to  Verdier,  one  day,  quite  unex- 
pectedly. He  was  listening  to  a  gentle  and 
luminous  exposition  by  a  white-haired  lecturer 


PARVATI  9 

whose  face  was  eternally  youthful.  It  was 
in  the  silent  intimacy  of  a  lecture  room  whose 
walls  were  decorated  with  symbolic  engrav- 
ings, whose  pillars  were  of  carved  lilies  and 
jasmine.  Annie  Besant  was  speaking.  Her 
voice  was  full  of  caressing  inflections  that  were 
almost  maternal.  She  told  of  the  suffering 
of  animals,  and  how  that  suffering  brings 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  able  to  see  it. 
With  the  persuasive  eloquence  of  an  Esse- 
nienne  she  described  the  useless  torture  of  ani- 
mals sacrificed  to  scientific  discoveries  of  mas- 
ters, and,  worse  still,  to  the  experimental  edu- 
cation of  students.  "Her  words  had  a  pro- 
phetic assurance.  She  seemed  the  reflection 
of  an  inner  flame,  of  an  essence  not  material, 
quasi-divine! 

Noel  left  the  place  with  his  heart  oppressed. 
It  was  his  road  to  Damascus.  From  that  day 
he  broke  with  cherished  habits,  became  a  vege- 
tarian, and  sought  solid  instruction  in  the  doc- 
trines of  H.  P.  Blavatsky.  Fundamentally 
a  mystic  detached  from,  realities,  he  neg- 
lected his  profession,  his  beloved  mathematics 


io  PARVATI 

— forgetting,  ungrateful  son  that  he  was,  that 
it  had  brought  him  at  the  age  of  twenty-one 
his  doctor's  degree  for  an  admirable  thesis. 
From  now  on  he  had  eyes  only  for  the  reading 
of  texts  in  liturgical  Sanscrit. 

Gilbert,  although  frivolous  and  superficial, 
was  at  first  profoundly  impressed  by  the 
metamorphosis  of  his  friend.  He  twitted 
Noel  affectionately  about  the  sudden  and  in- 
explicable evolution.  But  with  him  Noel  af- 
fected a  little  air  of  jovial  condescension  and 
a  camaraderie  so  protective  in  its  superiority 
that  the  riddle  remained  unsolved.  To  other 
eyes  Verdier  was  the  same,  a  good  giant  with 
shoulders  broad  enough  to  carry  other  peo- 
ple's troubles,  a  brilliant  conversationalist  full 
of  the  joy  of  life.  In  reality,  the  mask  hid 
suffering,  the  suffering  which  comes  to  over- 
developed intelligence  that  realizes  its  own 
ignorance.  The  truth  was,  Noel  had  too 
much  knowledge  and  not  enough  understand- 
ing. His  case  was  a  pathological  one,  and  in- 
dicated, like  t-hat  of  Goethe,  the  incurable  and 
special  disease  called  genius. 


PARVATI  ii 

It  was  chance,  sovereign  dispenser  of  hu- 
man encounters,  that  had  brought  these  two 
together  in  the  sacred  land  of  the  Brahmans. 
It  happened  that  Gilbert,  the  favorite  painter 
at  the  courts  of  Denmark  and  Russia,  was  set- 
ting out  to  India  to  paint  the  portrait  of  the 
Queen  of  Jeypore,  the  Maharanee  Parvati, 
while  Noel,  at  the  same  time,  was  sent  to  rep- 
resent a  Paris  newspaper  at  the  Theosophic 
Congress  at  Madras.  The  philosopher  found 
it  easy  to  hasten  his  departure  by  a  month. 
He  was  only  too  happy  to  accompany  le 
petit  to  that  country  of  fever  and  peril,  en- 
chanted but  dangerous  cradle  of  the  fanati- 
cism of  tumultuous  and  suffering  humanity. 

Half-way  between  the  Guest  House  and  the 
stables  of  the  prince,  Gilbert — accompanied 
by  the  faithful  Zahour,  his  "Prime  Minister 
and  Lord  High  Guardian  of  the  Paint 
Brushes" — met  the  favorite  elephant  which 
was  sent  every  d'ay  by  the  queen.  The  faith- 
ful beast,  Rama,  stopped  for  him  at  the  bunga- 
low and  carried  him  to  the  Amber  palace, 


12  PARVATI 

three  or  four  kilometers  from  the  City  of 
Roses.  At  a  signal  from  her  driver  Rama 
knelt  down  obediently  to  receive  the  accus- 
tomed passenger. 

It  had  been  the  maharanee's  fancy  to  choose 
for  the  background  of  the  portrait  the  ruins 
of  the  ancient  Rajput  capital.  Crumbling 
crenelated  walls  marked  the  ancient  city. 
Marble  palaces  open  to  the  sky,  the  remote 
and  mysterious  harem  or  zenana,  the  romantic 
lake  and  the  hanging  gardens — all  these  at- 
tracted the  queen  from  the  first.  The  pink 
light  resting  softly  upon  the  ruins  drew  her 
there  like  a  seductive  charm.  Parvati  ap- 
preciated this  jewel  of  architecture  because 
she  had  brought  back  from  Europe  a  profound 
affection  for  poetry  and  art.  The  Occident 
had  been  her  school,  but  the  Orient  meant  to 
her  the  quintessence  of  the  beautiful.  And 
the  pleasure  she  found  in  the  esthetic  mystery 
of  Asia  was  all  the  greater  because  she  knew 
why  she  admired. 

She  was  no  longer  the  timid  and  ignorant 
little  Hindu,  "the  little  savage,"  who  during 


PARVATI  13 

the  first  few  days  of  the  voyage  westward  sat 
bewildered  on  the  deck  of  the  great  liner,  re- 
fusing to  take  anything  to  eat.  Lady  Doug- 
las, a  woman  of  heart  and  intelligence,  had  ac- 
complished the  miracle  of  taming  the  child. 
It  was  she  who  had  brought  up  the  descendant 
of  the  deposed  King  oi  Guzerat.  The  vener- 
able Maharaja  of  Jeypore,  feeling  his  end  was 
near,  had  designated  the  child  Parvati  as  the 
future  wife  of  his  son  Tikka,  the  direct  heir  to 
the  throne. 

Parvati,  growing  in  grace  and  beauty, 
shared  the  family  life  of  Lady  Douglas,  and 
enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  an  existence  that  was 
necessarily  mondaine.  Lady  Douglas  loved 
to  travel,  and  the  scene  changed,  according  to 
her  whim,  from  aristocratic  drawing-rooms  in 
London  to  those  of  Paris,  from  watering- 
places  like  Brighton  or  Eastbourne  to  Dau- 
ville  and  Dinard.  Parvati  was  petted  by  Sir 
James  Douglas,  former  Governor  of  Bengal, 
and  by  his  daughters  as  well.  She  was  the 
baby  of  the  house,  and  her  chaperon  dreaded 
the  hour  of  separation. 


H  PARVATI 

But  the  time  was  approaching.  The  little 
princess  was  sixteen  years  old,  the  age  when 
Hindu  girls  are  married.  The  impending 
farewell  was  hard  for  the  girl  and  for  her 
adopted  mother.  In  vain  Lady  Douglas  tried 
to  enjoy  the  magnificent  fetes  of  Jeypore  when 
she,  with  her  husband  and  daughters,  took  the 
princess  back  to  India  to  be  married.  Nor 
did  Parvati  succeed  in  hiding  her  sadness. 
Too  quickly  and  easily  had  she  become  accus- 
tomed to  the  gentleness  of  European  life  not 
to  see  that  from  the  day  when  she  became 
queen  she  must  say  good-by  to  freedom  and 
to  the  hope  of  loving. 

For  Parvati  made  a  loveless  match.  She 
married  the  son  of  a  king  because  it  was  her 
destiny  to  mount  a  throne,  because  her  caste 
for  more  than  ten  centuries  had  been  of  the 
noblest.  She  had  seen  her  fiance  twice  for  a 
few  minutes  during  two  summers  in  London, 
when  he  was  completing  his  Anglo-Saxon  edu- 
cation at  the  University  of  Cambridge.  She 
knew  that  Tikka  was  an  accomplished  horse- 
man, a  champion  polo-,  tennis-,  and  golf- 


PARVATI  15 

player;  she  saw  that  he  had  an  easy  manner 
that  was  agreeable  and  even  sympathetic. 
But  of  his  character,  of  his  intimate  aspira- 
tions, of  his  real  self,  she  knew  nothing.  And 
this  hiatus  seemed  to  her  a  great  abyss — black, 
empty,  fearful. 

On  his  way  to  Amber,  Gilbert  thought 
about  these  things.  He  reflected  upon  the 
strange  and  painful  destiny  of  the  Oriental 
princess,  a  thousand  times  more  disenchanted 
than  her  Ottoman  sisters,  because,  after  giving 
her  the  veneer  of  civilization  and  a  taste  of 
modern  education,  the  cruelty  of  her  caste 
placed  her  in  an  Indian  harem,  where  zenana 
windows  were  forever  closed.  She  could  con- 
sider herself  fortunate  that,  after  the  death  of 
the  old  monarch,  her  husband  allowed  her  to 
leave  the  palace  of  the  royal  wives  three 
times  a  week  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
and  mingle  with  his  European  guests.  The 
painter  was  sad  as  he  thought  of  the  little 
fairy  sovereign  who,  like  the  Queen  of  Cha- 
telet,  spoke  his  language  so  prettily.  He 
was  seized  with  a  secret  desire  to  prolong  in- 


16  PARVATI 

definitely  the  sittings  for  the  portrait.  Dur- 
ing the  fifteen  days  he  had  been  working  on  it, 
an  irresistible  and  voluptuous  attraction  had 
lured  him  on. 

Ahl  how  different  she  was  from  artificial 
Parisienne  blondes,  this  svelte  daughter  of 
rajas!  Her  eyes  were  dark  with  mystery. 
Her  long  brown  tresses  were  parted  and 
braided  on  the  white  Aryan  forehead.  Her 
supple  figure  showed  the  strength  and  ardor 
of  her  race,  and  her  delicate,  fragile  frame 
proclaimed  the  purity  of  her  blood.  An  emo- 
tion, born  of  desire  unconfessed,  more  than 
of  disinterested  compassion,  invaded  his  soul 
when  he  called  forth  the  welcoming  smile  of 
the  prisoner.  She  came  toward  him  each 
morning  to  greet  him  as  to  a  jailer  who  de- 
livers. The  little  kindly  phrase  of  welcome 
that  came  to  the  tempting  vermilion  lips  said 
more  than  "good  morning." 

To-day  the  sensation  was  stronger  than  ever. 
He  hastened  to  get  there.  He  wished  to  ex- 
cuse himself  for  his  unintentional  lack  of  gal- 
lantry in  being  late,  and  to  make  up  exquisite, 


PARVATI  17 

fugitive  minutes.  With  voice  and  gesture  he 
urged  on  the  colossal  animal,  who  advanced 
with  her  majestic  step  at  her  own  gait  to  the 
tune  of  many  little  silver  bells  that  fringed  her 
scarlet  saddle  blankets. 

"TchellaoL  djaldi!  Go  on!  quicker!" 
Prodded  by  the  steel  hook  with  which  the 
keeper  pricked  her  ears,  the  good  Rama  ac- 
celerated her  pace.  She  pushed  loitering  ur- 
chins from  her  path,  and  made  great  flocks  of 
pigeons  fly  away  from  the  trees,  in  the  square 
called  Manak-Chowk,  when  she  tossed  her 
trunk  up  among  the  branches. 

The  City  of  Roses  lay  before  him  like  a 
shining  cameo.  Avenues  laid  out  in  rectan- 
gles, as  in  New  York,  swarmed  with  busy, 
colorful,  chattering  humanity.  There  was 
endless  buying-and-selling.  The  merchants 
squatted  on  the  sidewalks  along  salmon-col- 
ored palaces  adorned  with  arches,  columns, 
balconies,  and  flat  moldings  above  which 
were  arabesques  picked  out  in  white,  sculp- 
tured embroidery.  They  were  selling  grain, 
or  brass,  or  silken  materials,  or  arms  inlaid 


i8  PARVATI 

with  gold.  At  one  time  the  traffic  on  the  high- 
way was  blocked  by  two  young  girls  holding 
up  a  long  bolt  of  damp  material  that  they  were 
drying  in  the  sun.  Children  played  on  the 
door-sills  near  a  pyramid  of  rice.  Girls  with 
their  noses  pierced  with  silver  rings,  and  arms 
and  ankles  laden  with  jingling  bracelets, 
passed  by,  vending  their  wares.  It  was  the 
rush  hour. 

Gilbert  looked  upon  this  scene  with  eyes 
that  were  far  away.  The  moving  color  that 
had  enchanted  him  a  few  weeks  before  no 
longer  made  more  than  a  superficial  kaleido- 
scopic impression.  He  saw  a  marble  foun- 
tain in  the  city  of  Amber  where  Parvati 
stooped  to  look  at  her  image  mirrored  among 
perfumed,  trembling  lotus  flowers. 


II 

Ah !  to  live  days  that  lead  to  the  tomb, 

To  have  the  heart  swell  like  fruit  that  one  presses, 

So  that  the  sweet  juice  drips,  and  the  flavor  perfumes 

the  air, 

Full  of  abundant  hope  and  light-heartedness ! 
— COMTESSE  MATHIEUX  DE  NOAILLES:  Le  Caeur 
Innombrable. 

"TTOW  much  longer,  Zahour?" 
A  J.       "Twenty   minutes,    Sahib.     We   can 
already  see  the  ramparts." 

"Make  Rama  hurry,  my  good  Zahour. 
One  rupee  for  the  keeper  and  another  for  you, 
if  we  are  in  the  court  of  the  palace  before  ten 
o'clock." 

"We  shall  be  there,  Sahib." 

In  the  distance,  the  suburbs  of  Jeyporc  were 
fading  into  the  blue  horizon.  One  could  no 
longer  make  out  long  lines  of  heavily  laden 
buffaloes  and  dromedaries.  Only  a  few  sorry 
teams  of  zebus,  with  painted  horns,  trotted 
slowly  along  a  road  hedged  on  each  side  with 

19 


20  PARVATI 

aloes  and  cactus.  Peasants  from  the  scattered 
huts  were  carrying  rice  and  vegetables  to  the 
city. 

The  hot  sapphire  sky  seemed  to  come  close 
to  the  earth. 

When,  at  the  command  of  the  keeper,  the 
elephant  turned  into  a  portico  and  slowly 
knelt  on  the  marble  floor,  the  artist's  watch 
showed  exactly  ten  o'clock.  The  boys  had 
kept  their  word.  Coins  rang  on  the  tiled  step. 
Bronzed  faces  lighted  up. 

And  now  Gilbert,  preceded  by  the  eunuch 
on  guard,  found  his  way  through  the  corri- 
dors of  the  ancient  dwelling  to  a  hall  where 
the  fancy  of  the  Rajput  kings  had  amassed  all 
that  the  human  mind  could  imagine  in  the 
way  of  marbles.  It  was  the  Dewankhana, 
or  the  Hall  of  Mirrors — a  magic  vision  of 
mosaics  in  glass  and  gold.  Too  glittering, 
perhaps.  A  multitude  of  gaily  colored  shin- 
ing surfaces  finally  tires  the  eye.  Under  the 
double  row  of  columns  that  supported  a  mas- 
sive triforium  ran  a  profusion  of  designs — 
flowers,  birds,  interlaced  geometrical  figures. 


PARVATI  21 

The  infinite  complication  of  detail  recalled 
the  marble  treasures  of  the  Grand  Moguls  of 
Agra  and  Delhi,  or  the  decorations  of  the  pal- 
aces of  Jahangir  and  of  Ranjit  Singh  at  La- 
hore. Many  religious  myths  were  expressed 
allegorically  by  the  frescos.  It  was  here  that 
the  kings  of  Amber  affirmed  their  unshaken 
Brahman  faith.  Here  it  was  Ganesha,  the 
many-armed  elephant  god  with  his  trunk 
wound  up  like  a  spiral  on  his  abdomen. 
There  it  was  Karttikeya,  the  peacock  god  who 
presides  over  war.  Again,  it  was  Hanuman, 
the  monkey  god,  ally  of  man,  the  most  oft- 
sung  hero  in  the  epic  page  of  Ramayana. 

The  faces  of  the  vaults,  made  of  mirrors 
tarnished  by  saltpeter,  reflected  to  infinity  the 
halls  where,  long  ago,  favorites,  courtezans, 
and  dancing-girls  from  the  plains  of  Punjab 
or  the  far-away  mountains  of  Kashmir,  re- 
posed after  voluptuous  baths  and  massage. 
What  royal  debauches,  what  mad  orgies  these 
walls  had  sheltered — walls  sometimes  stained 
with  the  blood  of  beautiful  captives  whom  the 
monarch  ordered  to  be  flogged  for  his  own 


22  PARVATI 

pleasure!  Amber  kept  the  secret  of  these 
mysteries  of  love  and  suffering.  The  dead 
city  itself,  buried  in  verdure,  hidden  under 
devouring  ivy,  seemed  a  city  of  ruin  half  seen 
in  an  opium  dream.  Abandoned  temples, 
crumbling  porticos,  tumble-down  palaces, 
thorny  gardens,  dried-up  ponds.  In  the  dis- 
tance, the  interminable  ramparts  crouched  in 
the  valley,  blocking  the  pass.  Beyond  that, 
mountains  and  more  mountains.  And  the 
desert — the  dry,  yellow  desert — that  would 
never  end. 

The  painter  had  felt  the  luxuriance  of  this 
scene  so  profoundly  that  even  at  the  first  sit- 
ting for  the  portrait,  in  the  central  hall,  he  had 
frowned  because  of  feeling  that  was  more  than 
significant.  It  was  clear  that  the  exaggerated 
brilliance  of  the  decoration  would  "kill"  the 
model.  It  would  be  better  to  place  the  easel 
in  a  corner«of  the  veranda,  in  order  to  get  a 
background  of  softer  shades  and  tones.  This 
would  also  show  successive  colonnades  melt- 
ing into  the  cloudy  distance  toward  the  ruins 
and  the  little  lake  of  Tal-Kutora. 


PARVATI  23 

And  Parvati  had  clapped  her  hands  at 
this  fancy  of  Gilbert's.  Her  background 
would  be  like  scenery  in  an  opera.  They 
would  gossip  about  it  in  Paris  and  in  London, 
as  they  still  talked  about  the  celebrated  picture 
of  Chartran  showing  his  Majesty  Jagatjit 
Singh,  Maharaja  of  Kapurthala,  posed  in  an 
attitude  full  of  nobility. 

When  Desroches  entered,  the  maharanee 
was  already  seated  upon  her  throne  of  chiseled 
silver.  She  was  chatting  with  a  tall,  angular 
Englishwoman,  one  of  her  ladies  in  waiting,  a 
sort  of  half-spy  employed  by  the  king  to 
chaperon  the  sovereign. 

"How  late  you  are  this  morning,  my  dear 
fellow!"  cried  Parvati,  lifting  her  soft  white 
veil  with  a  graceful  gesture.  She  smiled,  to 
soften  the  reproach.  "I  was  wondering 
whether  you  were  not  delaying  because  of  an- 
other somebody.  Come,  confess,  you  heart- 
breaker!" 

Gilbert  blushed.  The  memory  of  a  con- 
versation with  the  Baroness  Sejourne  and  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  when  he  had  parted  from 


24  PARVATI 

her  made  him  uncomfortable,  and,  in  truth, 
there  were  accusing  dark  circles  under  his 
blue  eyes.  But  Odette  and  her  kisses  were  far 
away  now. 

"Alas,  Princess!"  he  said  evasively,  "I  am 
lazy,  and  I  find  my  excuse  in  the  greater  lazi- 
ness of  my  Hindu  valet,  who  forgot  to  wake 
me  in  time.  A  word  from  you  and  I  turn 
over  to  you  the  real  culprit." 

"Poor  Zahourl"  said  Parvati,  laughing. 
"I  could  not  forgive  myself  for  depriving  you 
of  a  good  servant.  I  should  as  soon  think  of 
parting  with  Miss  Brown." 

The  Englishwoman  gave  a  sour  and  con- 
strained little  smile  at  the  mention  of  her 
name.  She  was  visibly  annoyed  at  not  being 
able  to  understand  a  word  of  the  conversation. 
She  knew  no  language  besides  her  own,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  vague  words  she  had 
picked  up  in  a  beginner's  French  book.  She 
had  shrewdly  divined  that  the  mention  of  her 
name  was  a  bit  ironical. 

Gilbert  was  seated  in  front  of  the  canvas. 
His  brush  was  varnishing  the  work  of  yester- 


PARVATI  25 

day.  The  portrait  was  well  advanced.  Par- 
vati  was  portrayed  with  one  hand  on  the  arm 
of  the  throne  and  the  other  in  her  lap,  her 
slender  body  draped  in  the  silky  folds  of  the 
national  costume,  carried  out  in  Nattier  blue 
that  gave  a  little  air  reminiscent  of  Mary 
of  Egypt.  A  golden  band,  studded  with 
pearls  and  emeralds,  confined  her  hair.  A 
beryl  clasp,  marvelously  beautiful,  held  the 
silk  in  place  on  her  breast.  But  it  was  the  lit- 
tle smile  the  portraitist  had  skilfully  caught, 
that  relieved  the  severity  of  the  pose  and  gave 
warmth  to  the  picture — a  smile  of  goodness, 
of  tenderness,  and  of  love.  Looking  at  the 
painting,  one  felt  respectful  admiration  for 
the  queen  and  sympathy  for  the  woman. 

For  a  few  minutes  Gilbert  considered  his 
work  and  his  model.  He  nodded  his  head  ap- 
provingly at  them  both.  The  deep,  soft  eyes, 
the  refined  nose  with  its  sensitive  nostrils,  the 
ruddy  lips,  the  little  pearly  ear,  the  fluffiness 
of  the  hair,  all  pleased  him.  The  values  were 
good,  and  the  picture  had  spirit  and  life.  The 
portrait  was  coming,  and  with  it  the  inner  joy 


26  PARVATI 

that  conscious  inspiration  gives  to  the  heart  of 
the  artist. 

"To-day,"  said  he,  "I  will  do  the  hand,  the 
little  hand  that  knows  how  to  use  a  tennis 
racquet  so  well." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"My  friends  the  Sejournes  were  talking 
about  it  again  last  night.  It  appears  that  your 
serve  is  celebrated,  and  that  you  came  near  de- 
feating the  woman  champion  of  Ireland  at 
the  tennis  club  of  Eastbourne." 

"Oh!  I  'came  near'  beating  her,  perhaps, 
but  there  is  a  big  difference  between  that  and 
victory.  How  are  the  Sejournes?  I  saw  the 
baroness  yesterday.  She  came  to  the  palace 
of  Elysium.  We  talked  painting.  She  even 
sang  your  praises — how  shall  I  say  it? — 
warmly!  Is  my  hand  all  right  like  that?" 

"Your  Highness  may  straighten  the  ring  on 
the  little  finger — like  this.  There,  that  is 
good." 

Parvati  sighed.  Then  she  spoke  in  a 
changed  voice :  "  'Your  Highness' !  'your 
Highness'!  You  always  say  it.  Oh,  I  know 


PARVATI  27 

well  enough  that  I  shall  never  be  any  more  to 
you  than  a  model,  a  model  with  a  crown — a 
little  more  amusing  to  do,  perhaps,  than  your 
European  princesses  1" 

Desroches  laughed  heartily  at  her  little  out- 
burst. It  reminded  him  of  trying  hours  when 
he  had  to  make  the  portraits  of  the  jerky  little 
daughters  of  royal  families  in  Denmark  and 
Russia. 

"You  admit,  however,  Madame,  that  I  can- 
not call  you  by  your  sweet  name,  Parvati! 
That  would  be  treason — more  than  that,  sac- 
rilege. Your  patroness,  la  Montagneuse, 
daughter  of  Himavat,  Shakti  of  Shiva,  would 
never  forgive  me.  I  know  what  it  costs  an 
infidel  to  speak  the  name  of  the  vener- 
ated mother  of  the  sage  Ganesha  and  of  the 
warlike  Karttikeya!" 

"Don't  make  fun  of  our  gods,  my  friend. 
They  are  all-powerful,  and  they  will  avenge 
themselves.  Ask  Monsieur  Verdier,  profes- 
sor of  universal  knowledge.  Our  gods  are 
as  good  as  yours.  Our  theology,  our  philos- 
ophy, and  our  sciences  have  nothing  to  learn 


28  PARVATI 

from  any  of  your  savants  and  thinkers.  You 
must  respect  our  belief,  you  see.  Imitate  Sir 
James  and  Lady  Douglas,  who  educated  me. 
You  know,  in  London,  for  instance,  as  in 
Paris  and  elsewhere,  they  never  required  me 
to  eat  beef.  And  none  of  them  ever  laughed 
when,  while  reciting  my  prayers  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  bathed  myself  with  water  of  Father 
Ganges  or  of  Mother  Jumna." 

The  painter  saw  that  he  had  touched  a  sensi- 
tive chord  in  the  heart  of  the  maharanee.  In 
her,  two  things  had  resisted  Europeanization 
— her  caste  and  her  religion.  One  day  at  the 
Chateau  of  Beaulierre  near  Deauville,  where 
she  was  visiting  the  Sejournes,  she  had  re- 
buked a  young  snob  who  jokingly  asked  her 
the  name  of  her  first  ancestor.  The  little 
princess,  remembering  the  family  legend, 
pointed  to  the  sun.  And  in  a  proud  voice  she 
cried:  "Try  to  look  at  his  face!" 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  hall,  broken  only 
occasionally  by  the  sharp  little  cough  of  Miss 
Brown. 

It  was  Gilbert  who  broke  the  ice  by  asking 


PARVATI  29 

his  model  abruptly,  "Does  the  queen  set  store 
by  all  her  rings?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  the  hand  is  too  fine  and  pretty,  and 
the  painter  must  plead  its  cause.  Too  many 
rings  hide  it,  this  divine  little  hand." 

"Well,  I  do  not  refuse.  See,  I  am  taking 
off  all  but  this  one,  a  ruby  that  came  to  me 
from  my  mother.  I  have  promised  never  to 
be  parted  from  it.  You  will  let  me  keep  it?" 

"With  pleasure." 

"Thank  you,  dear  friend." 

Then  she  added  in  English  to  the  maiden 
lady:  "Here,  Miss  Brown,  take  my  rings. 
Monsieur  Desroches  does  not  want  them  in 
the  portrait.  You  will  be  good  enough  to  put 
them  inside  the  sandalwood  jewel-case — you 
know,  in  my  room.  You  may  keep  the  tur- 
quoise. I  give  it  to  you." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Englishwoman,  as  she 
left  the  room,  blushing  with  pleasure. 

They  were  alone.  It  was  the  first  time  in 
more  than  three  weeks  that  chance  had  placed 
them  face  to  face  with  no  one  looking  on. 


30  PARVATI 

The  unexpected  situation  embarrassed  them, 
for  no  confession  had  ever  come  from  their 
lips. 

Gilbert  stood  up.  Under  the  pretext  of 
posing  his  model's  hand  better,  he  lingered 
over  the  fingers  of  the  princess.  The  contact 
moved  him  strangely.  Touching  the  exquis- 
ite satin  skin  and  the  polished  finger-nails 
was  fascinating.  And  she,  charmed,  offered 
no  resistance  to  his  caress. 

Suddenly,  dizzy  at  his  touch,  she  leaned 
back  slightly,  eyes  half  closed,  lips  smiling. 
Gilbert  seized  her  hand  and  pressed  it  fever- 
ishly to  his  lips. 

His  action  had  been  so  sudden  that  Parvati 
did  not  have  time  to  defend  herself.  And 
now  she  stammered  as  she  pushed  away  the 
mouth  that  clung  to  her  trembling  fingers. 

"Monsieur  Desroches,"  she  cried,  "what  are 
you  doing!  It  is  wrong,  very  wrong,  what 
you  have  just  done.  It  is  with  your  life,  my 
life,  that  you  are  juggling." 

"My  life  belongs  to  you.     I  love  you  I" 


PARVATI  31 

"Then  obey  me.  It  is  more  than  a  prayer, 
it  is  an  order." 

"I  love  you!" 

"Gilbert,  stop !  or  I  must  call — " 

But  he,  indifferent  to  the  threat,  forgetting 
everything,  pressed  the  little  hand  closer. 
And  he  said  in  a  low  voice  that  was  scarcely 
audible : 

"No,  you  will  not  call,  because  you  love  me, 
because  I  have  felt  you  tremble,  because  life  is 
sweet  for  us  who  dare  to  face  death!" 

She  was  not  resisting  now.  Everything 
seemed  to  be  revolving  around  her.  She  for- 
got the  palace.  She  forgot  her  position  as 
wife  and  maharanee,  the  possibility  of  the 
Englishwoman's  return,  of  espionage,  discov- 
ery, and  the  horrible  death  that  would  follow. 
She  yielded  with  delight  to  this  caress  that 
made  the  blood  course  in  her  veins.  Every 
nerve  was  tense.  She  was  no  longer  the 
daughter  of  the  Brahmans,  arrogant  in  her 
caste:  she  was  a  woman  awakened,  in  love! 

Finally,  she  recovered  possession  of  herself. 


32  PARVATI 

She  drew  her  hand  from  the  vise  that  impris- 
oned it.  The  instinct  of  preservation — not  of 
their  existence  but  of  their  love — separated 
them  gently  from  each  other.  They  must  live, 
now  that  they  had  confessed.  The  same 
thought  leaped  to  their  brains  the  instant  they 
came  back  to  self-consciousness.  Both  real- 
ized the  necessity  of  silence.  They  must  not 
pronounce  useless  words  that  would  compro- 
mise, spoil  the  beauty  of  the  first  great  hour. 

When  Miss  Brown  came  back,  both  faces 
were  calm.  Gilbert  was  before  his  easel 
again.  Parvati  was  posing,  her  soft  cheeks 
warm  with  fugitive  color. 

The  scene  had  lasted  only  a  minute.  But 
the  minute  was  all  eternity. 


Ill 

How  can  a  man  follow  the  Way  or  the  Great  Game, 
when  he  is  eternally  pestered  by  women? 

— RUDYARD  KIPLING:  "Kim." 

DJALIlSTA  rested  her  elbow  on  a  Bokhara 
cushion  as  she  reclined  on  a  couch  in  the 
court  of  the  zenana.  Slender  fingers  toyed 
with  a  yellow  carnation  held  between  her  lips, 
and,  half  awake,  she  was  watching  her  big 
monkey.  The  creature  was  playing  with  a 
Siamese  cat  to  attract  the  attention  of  his  mis- 
tress. With  comic  gravity,  he  advanced  an 
almost  human  hairy  hand  toward  a  ball  of 
gray  fur,  streaked  with  yellow  and  black,  roll- 
ing over  and  over.  But  the  ball  was  on  its 
guard.  An  agile  paw  opened  quickly  to 
scratch.  And  the  hairy  hand  withdrew  as  a 
cry  of  sudden  pain  was  heard. 

Teasing  her  pets  was  one  of  the  courtezan's 
favorite   pastimes.     Djalina   was    the   king's 

33 


34  PARVATI 

second  wife,  and  the  zenana  recognized  that 
she  was  the  highest  in  favor  with  him.  From 
her  mother  Djalina  had  inherited  wantonness 
and  indolence.  Unusual  cruelty  made  her 
find  pleasure  in  fights  between  animals,  and 
in  their  subsequent  suffering.  This  was  an- 
other taint  and  she  had  received  it  from  her 
father,  who  used  to  be  the  guardian  of  the 
royal  deer  in  Travancore.  She  was  of  very 
mean  extraction,  this  former  serving-maid  of 
the  Maharanee  Parvati.  The  dark  beauty  of 
the  sorceress  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
king.  He  had  lost  no  time  in  making  her  his 
concubine,  and  later  had  given  her  a  place 
among  his  wives.  But  rich  veils  and  sumptu- 
ous garments  could  not  hide  the  stigma  of  her 
origin.  The  glitter  of  the  jewel  was  false. 

Djalina  rose,  and  with  a  slow  step  moved 
toward  the  circular  gallery  leading  from  her 
bedroom  to  the  swimming-bath  of  the  Elysium 
Palace.  Warm,  stuffy  silence  reigned  in  this 
part  of  the  royal  harem. 

The  monkey  tried  to  follow  his  mistress. 
But,  turning  swiftly,  she  shot  him  a  stinging 


PARVATI  35 

blow  with  a  leather  whip,  and  he  made  his 
escape  howling  with  pain,  taking  refuge  with 
his  adversary  of  a  few  minutes  before. 

"Minakshi!"  called  Djalina,  in  her  musical 
voice,  raising  a  dusky  arm  adorned  with  clink- 
ing golden  bracelets  and  sweeping  out  of  the 
way  of  her  feet  the  folds  of  her  silky  velvet 
robe,  whose  design  was  a  bad  mixture  of  red 
and  amber. 

A  slave  appeared.  She  was  a  girl  of  Mal- 
abar, whose  eyes  were  glowing  coals  and 
whose  closely  knit  and  supple  body  was 
wrapped  in  tight  bands  of  silk  that  revealed 
every  line. 

"You  called  me,  mistress?" 

"Yes.     The  bath  is  ready?" 

"Long  ago.  Do  you  care  to  come  with  me 
to  the  pool?  The  other  ladies  are  there,  and 
his  Highness  is  coming  for  the  morning  visit." 

Djalina  stretched  herself  languidly  and 
yawned. 

"I  am  tired,  still  tired,  Minakshi.  Ah! 
sleep  is  good!  Do  you  know  I  dreamed  I  was 
a  shakti!  Rub  me,  Minakshi.  I  adore  the 


36  PARVATI 

caress  of  your  fingers  on  the  back  of  my  neck 
and  on  my  shoulders." 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  the  slave 
rubbed  her  with  accustomed  strokes. 

The  two  were  friends.  It  was  whispered 
in  the  zenana — where  everybody,  wives  and 
concubines,  spent  their  time  spying  upon  one 
another — that  they  were  accomplices. 

The  ranee  complained. 

"Not  so  hard,  Minakshi !  You  massage  as 
though  you  wanted  to  tear  out  my  hair. 
Gently!  That  is  better.  Tell  me  what  was 
said  at  the  waking-hour  this  morning.  Did 
they  speak  of  the  Feringee  painter?" 

"Yes,  Ranee.  It  was  late  when  he  got  up. 
They  say  that  last  night  he  went  to  see  a  blonde 
foreigner,  the  one  who  lives  in  the  Peacock 
Bungalow  in  the  Guest  House  enclosure — a 
European,  it  appears." 

"  The  Baroness  Sejourne,  I  wager." 

"Yes,  I  believe  so." 

"Really,  Minakshi? — the  one  who  came  for 
tea  with  us  the  other  day?" 

Minakshi  nodded  her  head  affirmatively. 


PARVATI  37 

For  her  there  was  scarcely  a  doubt.  The  in- 
formation came  through  the  mahout  of  the 
princess,  a  grave  man,  who  had  noticed  the 
couple  going  to  the  palace  of  the  dewan.  It 
was  the  event  of  the  day,  the  stir  of  gossip  that 
brought  a  little  breeze  of  liberty  to  the  pris- 
oners, who  were  like  young  lionesses  born  in  a 
menagerie,  breathing  the  air  of  the  plain  for 
the  first  time  from  the  windows  of  their  cage. 

"It  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  maharanee 
to  know  this  story,"  said  Djalina,  with  a  little 
wicked  laugh  that  hissed.  "But  wait  a  min- 
ute. Tell  me,  does  her  Highness  already 
know  of  his  adventure?" 

"Perhaps,  by  now.  But  we  are  late.  Let 
us  hurry." 

They  quickened  their  steps.  According  to 
the  immemorial  custom  of  the  Rajput  kings, 
Djalina  must  be  present  when  the  maharaja 
came  to  greet  the  inhabitants  of  the  zenana. 
The  monarch  attached  great  importance  to 
the  strict  observance  of  the  rule  which  called 
all  his  women,  without  regard  to  rank  or  caste, 
to  show  in  this  way  their  respectful  obedience 


38  PARVATI 

and  docility  before  their  lord  and  master. 
The  ranee  knew  this  was  the  price  of  her  in- 
fluence, and  she  felt  secret  satisfaction  that  the 
noble  and  proud  Parvati  had  the  same  yoke  as 
herself. 

Just  before  they  reached  the  bath,  they 
learned  that  the  queen  was  slightly  indisposed 
and  would  not  appear  this  morning  for  the 
royal  salutation.  She  had  charged  the 
eunuch,  Selim,  with  her  expressions  of  regret 
to  the  maharaja.  This  time,  far  from  being 
annoyed,  the  favorite  was  enchanted  at  the 
absence  of  her  rival.  She  would  have  every 
chance  in  the  world  to  revile  the  one  whom 
she  hated. 

Djalina  moved  slowly  toward  a  group  of 
undressed  women  who  were  laughing  together 
as  they  sat  on  the  pink  Jeypore  marble  steps 
o£  the  basin.  Here  and  there,  in  the  water, 
petals  floated.  At  the  approach  of  the  favo- 
rite hilarity  redoubled,  and  all — they  were 
about  fifteen  of  them — taking  off  their  veils 
with  charming  childish  gestures,  pushed  one 
another  into  the  mirror  of  the  water.  Then 


PARVATI  39 

nude  bodies — white,  brunette,  and  yellow — 
played  amid  diamond  drops. 

Standing  erect  on  the  edge  of  the  pool, 
Djalina  craftily  questioned  her  companions. 

"You  are  gay  this  morning,  my  sisters!  Is 
it  the  sight  of  me  that  puts  you  in  such  a  good 
humor?  Who  is  your  leader?  Let  me  share 
your  joy.  Neither  the  leader  nor  the  rest  of 
you  have  anything  to  fear." 

One  of  the  bathers  rose  from  the  basin.  It 
was  a  little  Punjabite,  blue-eyed,  with  skin  but 
faintly  olive.  Her  left  nostril  was  pierced 
with  a  large  ruby,  and  pearls  gleamed  in  her 
two  long  braids  of  black  hair.  She  was  fif- 
teen years  old,  and  had  not  long  shared  the 
honors  of  the  royal  wives. 

"Then  it  was  you,  my  Lakshmi,"  said  Dja- 
lina, kissing  the  child  and  helping  her  to 
stand,  all  dripping,  on  the  nearest  step. 
"Speak.  I  repeat  that  I  shall  be  the  first  to 
laugh  with  you." 

"It  is  this  way,  Ranee.  We  were  talking,  a 
little  before  you  came,  of  the  famous  portrait 
of  the  maharanee,  the  portrait  which  the 


40  PARVATI 

European  begins  each  day  and  never  finishes. 
Our  master  deceives  himself,  or  is  deceived,  if 
he  allows  such  things  to  go  on.  And  we  were 
asking  ourselves  which  one  of  us  should  tell 
his  Highness.  We  thought  first  of  Sonemale, 
the  wife  of  the  dewan.  Then  suddenly  you 
appeared  among  us  like  Vasantasena,  the 
courtezan,  in  'The  Little  Clay  Cart'  of  our 
great  Shudraka.  And  it  was  so  amusing  to 
have  you  appear  that  way  that  we  all  laughed 
without  knowing  why.  That  is  all,  I  assure 
you." 

And  the  little  Sikh  clung  to  the  shoulder  of 
her  friend,  overcome  with  laughter,  and  Dja- 
lina,  disarmed,  laughed  with  her.  She  was 
sure  that  the  mischievous  child  spoke  the 
truth,  and  that  there  was  no  offense  intended 
for  her  in  the  general  mirth  which  had  greeted 
her  coming.  Was  not  the  king's  favor  her 
best  safeguard  against  any  show  of  unspoken 
or  apparent  hostility?  No ! — from  these  com- 
panions, favorites  perhaps  for  an  hour,  she 
had  nothing  to  fear.  That  Parvati  might  re- 
place her  was  the  only  danger. 


PARVATI  41 

Composedly,  she  said  to  Lakshmi: 

"Ah!  then  laugh  if  you  wish.  I  shall  be 
the  one  to  speak  of  it  to  his  Highness." 

The  laughing  ceased.  For  a  moment,  all 
were  stupefied.  The  vow,  in  the  circum- 
stances, amounted  to  a  declaration  of  war. 

And  to  punctuate  her  defiance  with  a  sym- 
bolic gesture,  the  favorite  loosened  the  draper- 
ies which  hid  her  divine  form.  When  her 
robes  had  fallen  to  the  ground  and  she  stood 
before  them,  a  bronze  statue  with  shining 
ebony  hair,  unveiled,  there  was  a  low  murmur. 
Even  those  who  were  jealous  of  her  favor 
could  not  suppress  their  admiration  for  her 
physical  perfection.  Such  beauty  com- 
manded the  respect  of  all. 

The  unspoken  admiration  did  not  trouble 
Djalina.  She  clasped  her  arms  on  her  breast 
and,  in  her  turn,  threw  herself  into  the  fresh, 
limpid  water. 

Bhagavat  Singh  had  come.  And  he  looked 
at  her  with  enchanted  eyes.  This  was  the 
powerful  ruler  under  whose  domination  peo- 
ple, villages,  and  provinces  trembled.  To 


42  PARVATI 

him — for  his  loyalty,  and  perhaps  for  his 
severity — the  English  had  been  pleased  to 
grant  the  right  to  raise  an  army,  to  coin  money, 
and  to  circulate  stamps — this  clubman  with  his 
fine  mustache,  only  a  little  more  bronzed  than 
his  London  prototypes! 

A  pleasant  fellow,  certainly,  but  with  noth- 
ing of  the  king  in  him.  In  spite  of  his  ef- 
forts, of  the  studied  severity  with  which  he 
tried  to  give  the  people  an  impression  of 
majesty,  w"hich  he  lacked,  there  showed  in  his 
languid  and  sometimes  half-closed  eyes,  the 
emptiness  of  beings  who  are  wholly  frivolous 
and  sensual. 

He  stood  leaning  against  the  arch  of  the  en- 
trance to  the  bath.  Before  him  were  the  at- 
tendants waiting  with  perfume  till  they  were 
needed  for  the  massage.  But  he  saw  only  one 
beautiful  vision.  His  eyes  followed  her 
movements.  Sometimes  the  dusky  mermaid 
shot  like  a  dart  among  her  wondering  compan- 
ions; and  again,  with  the  supple  strength  of 
her  young  body,  raised  herself  to  the  edge  of 
the  basin,  and  there,  with  her  feet  dangling, 


PARVATI  43 

she  splashed  herself,  and,  laughing,  showed 
her  lovely  teeth. 

The  prince  hardly  heard  the  eunuch  who 
told  him  of  the  maharanee's  absence.  The 
whole  being  of  this  man  vibrated  with  the 
sense  of  her  who  played  before  him  in  the 
colorful  water.  The  other,  the  queen,  his 
rightful  wife,  was  to  him  now  as  a  dim  and 
flickering  light,  like  distant  stars  which 
twinkle  to  prove  the  fact  of  their  being.  Now 
sweet  music  was  heard.  The  air  was  fragrant 
with  aloes,  myrrh,  and  violet-water  which  a 
servant  kept  tossing  into  the  space  between  the 
colonnades. 

As  the  master  approached,  the  adoring 
women  moved  from  his  path. 

The  bathers  ceased  their  play  and  grouped 
themselves  in  the  center  of  the  pool.  One, 
called  Damayanti,  chanted  in  warm,  caressing 
tones  the  great  "Hymn  to  the  Dawn"  from  the 
Rigveda : 

"Daughter  of  Heaven,  Aurora,  brilliant  and  generous  god- 
dess, 
Conquer  the  evil  spirit  of  the  night. 


44  PARVATI 

Banish  the  great  owl  which  envelops  the  sky. 

"Raise  thy  emblem  higher  than  the  mountains, 

Come  in  thy  chariot  drawn  by  flaming  oxen. 

In  her  beauty  and  goodness  she  smiles. 

Daughter  of  Heaven,  she  is  resplendent. 

Like  the  dancer,  she  uncovers  her  breast. 

Aurora  gives  to  the  world  her  light. 

Behold!  she  opens  the  portals  of  the  sky, 

And  adorns  herself  with  the  fires  of  the  sun,  her  lover!" 

Bending  forward  with  clasped  hands,  all  re- 
peated in  chorus: 

"Aurora,  bless  with  the  brightness  of  thy  being, 
The  father  kneeling  in  the  midst  of  his  children." 

When  they  had  finished  the  prayer,  Bha- 
gavat  Singh  waved  his  hand.  All  the  attend- 
ants hurried  forward  to  the  ranees,  and 
helped  them  out  of  the  pool.  The  massage 
began,  progressively,  according  to  good  Hindu 
traditions.  Each  woman  stretched  herself  on 
a  stone  slab,  and  gave  herself  over  to  the  care 
of  a  slave,  who  rubbed  her  gently  with  agile 
hands.  Then  came  the  dryers,  with  their 
arms  full  of  oils  and  perfumes. 

A  gong  sounded. 


PARVATI  45 

The  royal  salutation  was  over,  and  the  king 
was  at  liberty  to  enjoy  the  intimacy  of  his 
harem.  He  was  accompanied  by  Selim,  chief 
eunuch  of  the  zenana,  who  after  the  departure 
of  his  Highness,  announced  the  name  of  the 
woman  to  be  admitted  in  the  evening  to  the 
king's  apartment. 

From  the  baths,  the  women,  wrapped  in 
light  veils,  went  to  a  Moorish  patio.  There, 
once  upon  a  time,  a  Mussulman  architect  fash- 
ioned twenty  excavations  in  the  form  of  baths. 
They  were  now  furnished  with  cushions  and 
precious  fabrics,  and  were  used  as  reclining 
places  after  the  bathing-hour.  That  is,  with 
the  exception  of  one,  which  was  filled  to  the 
brim  with  hardened  cement. 

A  mysterious  and  terrible  legend  is  told  of 
it.  It  was,  they  said,  the  tomb  of  the  adulter- 
ous queen  of  the  maharaja  who  preceded  the 
present  potentate.  The  unfaithful  princess — 
her  name  was  Sita — had  been  discovered  by 
the  king  himself.  She  had  met  one  of  the  of- 
ficers of  the  court  here  by  night.  The  lover 
was  beheaded  at  dawn,  and  the  princess  was 


46  PARVATI 

stripped  and  tied  by  her  arms  and  legs  to  iron 
rings  fixed  in  the  sides  of  the  marble  bath. 

The  head  alone  emerged,  and  into  the  bath 
coolies  poured  pails  of  water  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  sacks  of  cement.  The  stone  coffin  solid- 
ified slowly.  And  she  who  was  thus  buried 
alive  looked  upon  a  profusion  of  flowers  and 
fruits  and  cakes  placed  about  her — symbols  of 
her  departing  life.  After  horrible  suffering 
she  succumbed,  with  cries  and  blasphemy. 
Then  the  bloodless  head  of  the  victim  was  cut 
off  and  thrown  to  the  vultures.  The  bath  was 
sealed  with  a  new  layer  of  cement,  enclosing 
forever  the  headless  body,  token  of  a  fearful 
punishment. 

Slowly,  in  single  file,  the  women  moved 
past  the  sepulcher  which  reminded  them  every 
morning  of  the  penalty  for  adultery.  Then 
each  one  found  her  accustomed  couch  for  rest 
after  the  bath. 

Bhagavat  Singh,  without  noticing  any  of 
them,  made  his  way  to  where  Djalina  was  re- 
clining. She  turned  her  head  lazily  toward 
her  lover,  and  gave  him  a  caressing  smile. 


PARVATI  47 

"Djalina!"  said  he,  in  a  voice  that  was 
hoarse  with  passion.  "Djalina,  I  love  you! 
At  the  pool  a  little  while  ago,  I  saw  only  you. 
You  are  as  beautiful  as  Durga  the  Terrible, 
the  spouse  of  Shiva.  Your  eyes  are  dark  and 
velvety  like  those  of  a  gazelle  that  bounds 
through  the  jungle.  I  love  your  carmine  lips, 
like  coral  islands  in  the  deep  sea.  Your  teeth 
are  pearls  of  Singhala,  your  hair,  the  ebony 
of  the  forests  of  Nepal." 

And  she,  with  eyes  half  closed,  intoxicated, 
murmured : 

"My  gentle  master,  I  love  you!" 

"You  are  my  queen!" 

"Your  queen!  You  forget  the  other! — the 
one  whom  you  show  to  your  guests,  whose  por- 
trait you  are  having  painted  by  the  foreigner; 
the  one  who  sits  by  your  side  at  the  tables  of 
impious  eaters  of  beef!" 

He  answered  wearily:  "She  is  the  maha- 
ranee.  You  are  my  sweetheart — the  one  that 
possesses  me,  the  one  whom  I  possess  with  all 
the  call  of  the  flesh.  Djalina,  give  me  one  of 
your  kisses!" 


48  PARVATI 

Their  lips  met.  They  trembled.  Then  he 
rose  quickly  and  went  away,  accompanied  by 
the  eunuch,  without  looking  back. 

And  Lakshmi,  the  laughing  one,  half  rising 
from  her  bed,  cried: 

"Happy  night  of  love  for  Djalina  the 
Elect!" 


IV 

His  scorn  for  humanity  increased.  The  Esseintes  un- 
derstood at  last  that  the  majority  of  the  people  in  the 
world  are  good-for-nothing  idiots. 

— JORIS-KARL  HUYSMANS. 

GILBERT  was  sitting  at  his  desk  half 
dressed,  finishing  a  letter  to  his  brother. 
Verdier  was  looking  through  a  magnifying- 
glass,  absorbed  in  deciphering  an  old  text  of 
the  poet  Kalidasa,  when  there  was  a  discreet 
knock  at  the  bedroom  door. 

"May  I  come  in?"  inquired  a  voice  out- 
side. 

'That  depends.  I  am  in  my  pajamas  Is 
that  you,  Sejourne?" 

"Surely,  it  is  I." 

"Boastful  old  fool!"  grumbled  Noel.  The 
puerile  fatuousness  of  the  baron  annoyed  him. 

"Well,  come  in!"  called  Desroches,  sealing 
his  letter. 

40 


50  PARVATI 

The  door  opened  and  a  stout,  apoplectic 
man,  with  the  side-whiskers  of  a  diplomat  and 
the  aspect  of  a  big  jovial  child,  burst  into  the 
room.  He  was  rigged  up  in  a  hunter's  cos- 
tume— a  suit  of  khaki,  puttees,  helmet,  car- 
tridge-case. Over  his  shoulder  were  strapped 
a  pair  of  revolvers.  Dangling  at  his  right 
hip  was  a  cutlass,  the  gift  of  the  Marquis  of 
Keregal,  his  bosom  friend,  grand  master  of  the 
hunt  in  the  forest  of  Quenecan  in  Brittany. 
Thus  accoutered,  he  was  a  sad  figure.  The 
poor  man  was  a  sorry  imitation  of  Nimrod,  the 
indefatigable  hunter,  and  one  wondered  what 
would  be  the  effect  upon  the  gazelles  of  the 
jungle  if  he  were  suddenly  to  appear  among 
the  bamboo  I  But  valiant  Baron  Olivier  Se- 
journe  did  n't  bother  his  head  with  such 
details.  Did  n't  he  have  back  of  him  his 
renown  as  a  sportsman,  his  success  as  an  avi- 
ator? Although  it  must  be  said  that  he  had 
never  piloted  either  monoplane  or  biplane; 
the  extent  of  his  prowess  was  financing  some 
enterprise  in  aviation. 

"Good  morning,  Gilbert! — Good  morning, 


PARVATI  51 

Monsieur  Verdier!"  said  he  heartily,  shaking 
hands  with  his  two  friends  with  such  vigor 
that  their  knuckles  ached.  "Come  on,  come 
on,  hurry  up!  No  joke  about  it — what? 
Tiger-hunting! — this  is  the  great  day!  I 
have  just  left  Arwar-Dass.  The  aide-de-camp 
of  his  Highness  tells  me  everything  is  ready. 
The  elephants  will  be  waiting  for  us  at  ten 
o'clock  at  Kali-Kiho.  By  the  way,  Gilbert, 
the  baroness  wants  to  speak  to  you  before  we 
leave — a  wager,  a  philopena,  something  or 
other!  Stop  for  me  at  the  bungalow  as  soon 
as  you  are  dressed." 

"All  right.  Give  me  time  to  find  my 
clothes.  It  won't  take  long. — Zahour,  bring 
my  boots!" 

The  painter  disappeared  with  his  boy  into 
the  dressing-room. 

"How  about  you,  Verdier?"  questioned  the 
baron.  "You  will  come  along?" 

"Impossible,  my  dear  fellow.  You  know  I 
am  a  theosophist,  a  bit  of  a  Buddhist,  and  op- 
posed to  spilling  blood,  whether  with  scalpel 
or  gun." 


52  PARVATI 

"Even  if  the  game  is  a  wild  beast? — a 
tiger?" 

"Even  then.  What  do  you  call  a  wild 
beast?  There  's  no  use  talking  about  it:  a  dis- 
cussion would  carry  us  too  far  afield.  I  dis- 
approve of  hunting,  but  every  man  is  free 
to  think  as  he  likes,  Monsieur  Sejourne,  and 
naturally  an  intrepid  sportsman  like  you  is 
captivated  with  the  peril  and  uncertainty  of  a 
tiger-hunt.  But,  by  Nandya,  the  good  god- 
dess, it  is  a  pair  of  felines  that  you  will  bring 
back  to  us  with  these  two  guns!" 

Verdier  put  his  finger  on  the  double  straps 
tightly  fastened  around  Sejourne's  chest. 
The  latter,  who  was  too  good-natured  to  see  a 
dig  at  himself,  accepted  the  criticism  benevo- 
lently and  went  on  to  explain  what  kind  of 
gun  was  necessary  for  shooting  birds  and  how 
professional  tiger-hunters  needed  only  one 
rifle — and  a  revolver,  in  case  of  an  emergency. 

An  automobile  was  heard  purring  along  the 
macadamized  park  road  that  joined  the 
bungalows  in  the  Guest  House  enclosure. 


PARVATI  53 

The  baron  opened  the  casement  and  leaned 
out,  shouting  to  Gilbert: 

"Hurry,  mon  petit!  There  is  d'Alizay,  and 
Mesnil-Guibert  with  him.  They  're  coming 
for  us  in  the  king's  Panhard.  And  Sir  Leslie 
Turner,  too.  Good  for  him!  We  shall  be 
more  than  enough  for  the  tiger." 

Verdier  and  Sejourne  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  steps  just  as  the  limousine  came  to  a  stop 
under  the  portico.  The  door  opened  and 
three  gentlemen  in  faultless  attire  stepped  out. 
The  Marquis  Gustave  d'Alizay  and  the  Count 
Adolphe  de  Mesnil-Guibert  were  a  comic 
spectacle.  They  were  inseparable.  Yo\i 
never  saw  one  without  the  other.  This  had 
been  true  for  twenty  years.  They  had  gone  to 
school  together.  They  had  taken  their  de- 
grees the  same  day.  After  that,  to  please  his 
widowed  mother,  the  young  marquis  had 
studied  law.  Cafe  life  in  the  Latin  Quarter 
had  offered  them  some  recreation  to  relieve 
the  dull  studies  of  the  law  school.  Even  the 
marriage  of  the  count  with  Mademoiselle 


54  PARVATI 

Jeanne  Patrouillat,  only  daughter  of  the 
millionaire  oleomargarine  manufacturer  of 
Lyons,  had  not  disturbed  the  friendship. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Adolphe  de  Mesnil- 
Guibert  was  never  so  bored  in  his  life  as  he 
was  during  the  two  months  of  his  wedding 
journey.  Fancy  two  months  alone  with  a 
common  little  girl  from  the  provinces  who  was 
not  only  affected  but  had  nothing  in  the  way 
of  looks  to  help  matters!  He  had  married 
her  to  get  his  debts  paid.  But  the  two  chums 
made  it  up  afterward.  They  easily  fell  into 
their  old  life  again.  Owing  to  a  large  inherit- 
ance from  his  uncle,  the  marquis  was  able 
to  remain  a  confirmed  old  bachelor,  and 
Adolphe  consoled  himself  with  this  friend- 
ship. 

aAnd  Monsieur  Desroches?"  demanded  the 
Honorable  Sir  Leslie  Turner,  who  spoke 
French  the  way  Englishmen  do,  always  as 
though  he  had  a  hot  potato  in  his  mouth. 
"Is  n't  he  going  to  help  us  kill  the  man- 
eater?" 

"Yes,  indeed!"  replied  Noel.     "He  is  a  lit- 


PARVATI  55 

tie  late.  Excuse  him.  Come  in,  gentlemen,  I 
will  tell—" 

"All  right,"  said  the  Britisher,  entering  the 
vestibule.  "We  '11  see  him  in  a  few  minutes, 
smoking  his  eternal  cigarette." 

A  jolly,  vigorous  fellow  he  was,  this  son  of 
Albion — tall  and  ruddy,  clear-eyed,  with  a  red 
mustache  whose  drooping  ends  belied  his  good 
nature.  He  had  been  detached  from  the  royal 
government  and  was  now  Commissioner  at 
Jeypore.  In  India,  where  titles  mean  a  great 
deal,  his  post  of  quasi-diplomat  carried 
weight.  In  this  independent  state  Sir  Leslie 
had  more  power  than  a  prefect  of  a  province 
in  France.  He  superintended  the  question  of 
duties  at  the  ports,  the  recruiting  of  troops, 
and  the  exploitation  of  the  royal  domains. 
He  watched  court  intrigues  and  the  gossip  of 
the  zenana.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  make 
trouble  when  there  was  good  reason,  and  he 
kept  a  well-paid  band  of  spies  of  both  sexes. 

The  three  men  entered  the  drawing-room,  a 
large  room  decorated  in  Oriental  style  with 
Persian  hangings  and  trophies  of  the  hunt, 


56  PARVATI 

mixed  with  curious  Hindu  arms  of  a  forgotten 
day.  The  bad  taste  of  the  jumbled  ornaments 
always  made  Gilbert  gnash  his  teeth. 

The  marquis  hummed  a  popular  air:  "If 
you  don't  love  me,  I  love  you." 

"If  you  had  castanets,  I  'd  swear  we  were 
in  Seville,"  said  the  marquis. 

"Do  you  remember  Christmas  Eve  last  year 
in  the  crowded  dining-rooms  of  the  Grand 
Cafe?" 

"And  the  two  little  Spanish  girls  that  were 
such  good  friends?" 

"And  how  we  had  to  tie  biane  de  Com- 
mercy's  feet  and  hands  to  take  him  to  Des- 
roches's  studio,  dead  drunk?" 

"Wow!"  laughed  Turner.  "That  was  a 
good  Christmas!  In  France  you  know  how 
to  laugh.  When  we  want  to  amuse  ourselves, 
we  go  to  Paris.  Moulin  Rouge  forever!" 

"And  here?"  asked  Sejourne. 

"The  girls  here  can't  hold  a  candle  to  your 
Parisians." 

"You  're  not  quite  fair,  Sir  Leslie,"  de- 
clared Gilbert,  appearing  in  the  doorway. 


PARVATI  57 

"It  is  never  safe  to  generalize.  I  don't  know 
personally  all  the  ladies  of  the  zenana,  but  I 
can  testify  that  the  Princesse  Parvati,  whose 
portrait  I  enjoy  the  honor  of  painting,  rivals 
any  beauty  of  Buckingham  Palace.  Cer- 
tainly more  beautiful  than  any  of  them,"  he 
added  with  warmth.  "Ask  these  gentlemen. 
They  saw  the  maharanee  at  the  court  gala  last 
week." 

D'Alizay  and  Mesnil-Guibert  protested 
gallantly  against  Sir  Leslie's  unfavorable 
criticism  of  the  Indian  type  of  beauty.  The 
baron,  who  in  a  discussion  always  made  a 
buffer  of  himself,  pointed  out  that  Sir  Leslie 
had  meant  the  women  of  the  people,  and  prob- 
ably had  a  better  opinion  of  Indian  aristo- 
cracy. This  diplomatic  remark  relieved  the 
theosophist  of  pleading  the  cause  of  Hindu- 
ism, and  of  wasting  his  eloquence  on  the  evi- 
dent prejudice  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  function- 
ary. 

When  the  hunters  were  settling  themselves 
in  the  limousine,  Zahour  Mahomed  appeared 
on  the  porch. 


58  PARVATI 

"The  master  was  forgetting  the  revolver," 
said  he. 

"Do  I  need  that?"  said  the  painter,  hesi- 
tating. 

"Better  take  it,"  advised  the  baron.  "You 
never  know  what  will  happen.  Look,  I  have 
two  with  me,  although  I  hope  I  shall  not  need 
both." 

They  shook  hands  with  Noel,  and  the  auto- 
mobile moved  off.  It  was  run  by  a  turbaned 
chauffeur,  a  Rajput  whom  the  maharaja  had 
sent  to  Paris  for  his  training. 

There  was  a  short  stop  at  the  Peacock 
Bungalow,  where  the  Sejournes  lived,  to  allow 
Desroches  and  his  companions  to  speak  to  the 
ladies  before  departing  for  Kali-Kiho.  The 
Baroness  Odette  was  the  most  gaily  dressed 
of  the  bevy  of  ladies  among  whom  she  came 
and  went,  gravely  occupied  with  making  in- 
cendiary cocktails.  Lady  Gladys  Turner  was 
helping  her.  When  the  men  entered,  the  con- 
versation turned  to  tigers  and  hunting.  There 
was  an  opportunity  for  the  little  Countess 
Jehanne — as  Madame  de  Mesnil-Guibert,  nee 


PARVATI  59 

Jeanne  Patrouillat,  liked  to  call  herself — to 
exhort  everybody  to  be  prudent.  She  was 
seconded  by  a  corpulent  old  maid,  Made- 
moiselle Aspasie  Agathopoulos,  an  eccentric 
multimillionairess  whom  the  maharaja  had 
met  on  board  a  Peninsular  steamer.  She 
made  a  trip  around  the  world  every  year, 
escorted  by  a  noisy  suite  that  included  a  secre- 
tary and  a  physician.  Even  Mrs.  Williams, 
doctor  at  the  court — the  widow  of  a  major 
who  had  given  his  life  for  his  country  in  the 
Transvaal — joined  the  chorus  of  good  advice. 
Her  concern  was  that  of  one  devoted  to  the 
quiet  relief  of  human  misery. 

Profiting  by  the  general  confusion,  the 
baroness  drew  Gilbert  aside,  and,  hidden  be- 
hind a  Japanese  screen,  began  to  scold  him. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  she  whispered,  pouting. 
"You  promised  me  faithfully  to  let  them  go 
on  their  dangerous  expedition  without  you! 
This  morning  I  find  out  you  are  with  them. 
Oh,  I  know  it  is  n't  thrilling  for  you  to  spend 
a  whole  day  with  me.  You  like  me  better 
in  the  evening." 


60  PARVATI 

"Hush,  my  dear.  Don't  make  it  disagree- 
able for  me.  You  know  I  am  fond  of  you." 

"But  you  're  leaving  me  to-day!" 

"Did  I  promise?  Perhaps.  But  I  didn't 
swear  I  would  n't  go.  Listen  to  me.  This 
hunt  tempts  me.  I  long  for  a  new  experience, 
a  new  sensation.  And  then,  the  landscape, 
the  color;  you  must  not  forget  that  I  am  a 
painter." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut!  What  a  heap  of  poor  rea- 
sons! And  I  don't  see  anything  in  the  jungle 
that  could  tempt  you  to  paint." 

"Well,  I  promise  to  be  good.  I  will  be 
careful  on  my  elephant  and  I  will  use  no 
other  weapon  than  my  opera-glasses.  As  soon 
as  the  tiger  is  done  for,  I  will  give  the  signal 
to  return.  Will  that  please  you?" 

"Swear  to  me." 

"On  my  life!  We  must  join  the  others. 
They  will  notice  our  absence." 

It  was  time  to  go.  The  baron  was  bored. 
He  had  finished  his  cocktail  and  wanted  to 
be  off.  Farewells  followed,  and  they  de- 


PARVATI  61 

parted,  the  ladies  waving  good-by  with  their 
scarfs. 

The  Panhard  climbed  a  little  hill  hedged 
with  flowering  magnolias,  and  was  lost  in  the 
verdure  of  an  enchanted  garden. 


I  love  you  when  your  eyes  shed  hot  tears, 
When,  in  spite  of  my  caresses, 
Anguish  overcomes  you. 

— BAUDELAIRE  :  Les  Fleurs  de  Mai. 

BHAGAVAT  SINGH  was  having  an  in- 
formal interview  with  his  aide-de-camp, 
Captain  Arwar-Dass  of  the  Fisst  Brigade, 
Lancers  of  Jeypore.  The  king's  uncle,  Nana 
Singh,  an  old  man  with  a  bristling  grizzly 
beard,  was  standing  near  by,  looking  at  a  map. 
He  was  explaining  to  the  special  physician 
of  Mademoiselle  Agathopoulos,  Dr.  Pelo- 
pidas  Canaridis,  the  itinerary  of  the  hunt 
about  to  take  place.  The  eighteen  elephants 
to  be  used  were  grazing  in  the  vicinity. 

"I  see,"  said  the  maharaja  to  his  aide-de- 
camp, "that  you  have  carried  out  my  instruc- 
tions. I  want  this  hunt  to  be  done  exactly 

right.     The  marquis  and  his  friend  are  good 

62 


PARVATI  63 

shots,  although  they  did  not  hunt  tigers  when 
they  were  at  Gwalior.  I  want  them  to  take 
away  a  better  impression  of  Rajputana.  As 
for  the  painter,  I  don't  know  how  well  he  can 
shoot,  but  he  will  not  have  much  difficulty  in 
doing  better  than  poor  Sejourne." 

"All  will  go  well,  your  Highness,"  replied 
the  officer.  "The  sirdar  tells  me  that  roaring 
was  heard  last  night  in  the  direction  of  Tal- 
Devi.  Herds  of  antelope  are  reported  to  be 
feeding  at  the  foot  of  Subramanya  Moun- 
tain. And  then,  there  are  plenty  of  wild  boar 
and  leopards  near  Pali." 

"Very  well.  I  count  on  you  and  the  sirdar. 
There  will  be  plenty  of  game.  The  Euro- 
peans know  that  this  jungle  is  my  own,  and 
they  respect  it!" 

The  scream  of  a  siren  horn  tore  the  air. 
Everybody  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  City 
of  Roses.  A  cloud  of  dust  was  approaching 
on  the  road. 

"They  are  coming!"  cried  Arwar. 

"To  be  on  time  is  the  exclusive  privilege 
of  kings,"  observed  the  monarch.  "Guests 


64  PARVATI 

need  not  bother!  To  be  sure,  the  commis- 
sioner accompanies  them.  They  will  arrive 
here  reeking  with  whisky  and  gin.  You  will 
see,  that  will  get  them  into  trouble." 

The  maharaja  never  let  a  chance  escape  him 
to  condemn  what  he  called  the  drunkenness 
of  his  guests.  It  is  true,  the  word  was  an  ex- 
aggeration. Like  his  fathers,  he  carefully 
abstained  from  alcoholic  drinks,  and  he  re- 
gretted that  anything  of  the  kind  was  admitted 
to  his  kingdom.  But  courtesy  and  hospitality 
imposed  the  duty  of  stocking  the  cellar  of  his 
palace  every  year  with  choice  wines. 

"We  are  a  little  bit  late,"  observed  Sejourne 
as  he  jumped  out  of  the  automobile.  "We 
are  sorry,  your  Highness.  But  it  is  the  fault 
of  the  ladies,  who  did  not  want  to  let  us  come." 

The  Europeans  shook  hands  with  their 
noble  host,  who  hid  his  vexation  with  a  smile. 
The  mahouts  were  placing  their  elephants  in 
a  semicircle.  Submitting  with  docility  to  the 
guiding  prods  of  their  keepers,  the  animals 
knelt  down.  The  baron  with  difficulty  man- 
aged to  get  his  rotund  person  into  place  on  a 


PARVATI  65 

wooden  saddle.  All  his  trappings  got  in  his 
way.  Gilbert  chose  a  young  elephant  with 
short  tusks  because  she  appealed  to  him  as 
the  most  picturesque.  The  other  hunters 
mounted  without  caring  which  animal  they 
took. 

"All  aboard!"  commanded  Arwar-Dass. 

The  procession  moved  in  Indian  file  along 
a  road  hedged  with  aloes.  In  half  an  hour 
they  had  reached  an  abandoned  temple. 
Twenty  shikarees  carrying  lances  scrambled 
down  from  their  elephants  and  presented  arms 
before  his  Highness.  The  king  responded 
with  an  indifferent  salute.  Then  the  train 
moved  along  almost  noiselessly  until  it  reached 
a  plain  thickly  covered  with  wheat.  The 
sirdar,  the  leader  of  the  hunt,  blew  a  whistle 
twice.  The  elephants  formed  in  a  fan-shaped 
group. 

The  hunt  had  begun. 

The  elephants  had  bravely  advanced  into 
the  underbrush.  At  times  the  big  beasts  dis- 
appeared entirely  into  dried-up  bushes  which 
their  heavy  feet  trampled  to  the  ground  at 


66  PARVATI 

every  step.  All  that  could  be  seen  were  the 
helmets  of  the  seated  hunters,  and  the  barrels 
of  their  guns.  There  was  absolute  silence. 

A  movement  was  seen  in  the  sea  of  green. 
Graceful  antelopes,  with  soft,  pacific  eyes, 
watched  the  advancing  company,  then  took 
flight  into  a  clearing.  Several  guns  were 
fired. 

"Nilgau!"  cried  the  sirdar. 

"Don't  shoot!"  cried  Arwar.  "They  are 
sacred  animals!" 

But  he  spoke  too  late.  A  shot  had  come 
from  the  direction  of  Mesnil-Guibert's  ele- 
phant. The  ardent  Nimrod  had  not  been 
able  to  contain  himself.  The  antelope  rolled 
on  the  ground,  its  flank  pierced  by  a  large 
ball.  The  poor  beast  got  to  its  feet.  Al- 
though its  body  was  shaking,  it  succeeded  in 
gathering  its  strength.  It  bounded  on  three 
legs  into  the  thick  vegetation  and  disappeared. 

It  was  a  moment  of  stupefaction  for  the 
Hindus.  Bhagavat  Singh  was  frowning. 
His  subjects  worshiped  the  nilgau  as  much  as 
they  did  the  cow,  although  it  bore  no  resem- 


PARVATI  67 

blance  to  the  sacred  cow  of  Brahman  law. 
The  tradition  was  dear  to  the  Rajputs,  and 
there  was  danger  that  the  ignorant  shikarees 
would  avenge  the  sacrilege.  Nana  Singh,  the 
uncle  of  the  king,  to  avoid  a  conflict,  hastened 
to  explain  in  Hindustani: 

"The  European  did  not  know!"  Then  in 
English,  to  his  nephew's  guests :  "Gentlemen, 
his  Highness  begs  you  not  to  fire  upon  nilgau 
and  peacocks.  All  the  rest  of  the  game  is 
yours." 

The  shooting  began  again.  The  marquis 
brought  down  a  superb  deer.  It  was  as  large 
as  a  mule.  But  in  spite  of  the  beauty  of  its 
steel-blue  coat,  it  did  not  enjoy  sacred  im- 
munity. In  the  meantime,  the  others  added 
spiral-horned  black  bucks,  wild  boar,  and 
game  of  all  sorts.  These  were  picked  up  by 
the  shikarees,  who  occasionally  had  to  use  their 
lances  to  complete  the  killing. 

For  some  time,  although  Desroches  had 
done  his  share  in  bagging  the  game,  he  had 
been  noticing  that  his  elephant  showed  signs 
of  fatigue  or  perhaps  nervousness.  She  went 


68  PARVATI 

on,  although  it  was  apparently  against  her 
will.  Despite  unsparing  prodding,  she  was 
always  behind  the  others.  Doctor  Pelopidas, 
who  was  the  nearest  to  the  painter,  inquired 
the  cause  of  the  elephant's  lagging.  Gilbert 
said  he  had  concluded  that  the  animal  was 
confused  and  frightened  by  wild  boar  running 
so  close  to  her  legs.  From  time  to  time  she 
trumpeted  and  shook  with  fear.  Finally  Gil- 
bert succeeded  in  getting  his  elephant  to  the 
place  where  the  rest  of  the  party  had  stopped. 
Under  a  sycamore  tree  were  tents.  The  first 
part  of  the  hunt  was  finished. 

"Bless  me!"  cried  the  baron.  "Hurry  up, 
you  slow-pokes!  the  table  is  set.  I  have  the 
appetite  of  an  ogre.  If  you  do  not  hurry, 
there  will  be  nothing  left  for  you." 

"I  hope,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  d'Alizay, 
helping  Desroches  to  dismount,  "that  you  have 
had  no  accident.  There  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing the  matter  with  your  elephant." 

"Probably  hungry,"  Gilbert  replied,  laugh- 
ing. "She  is  like  us,  glad  to  see  food  at  lunch- 
time." 


69 

The  tents  had  been  set  up  the  evening  be- 
fore. They  made  a  pretty  picture,  nestling 
under  the  tufted  palms  and  the  branches  of 
the  sycamore  trees.  The  guests  sat  down  to 
a  delicious  meal,  served  with  the  best  of 
French  wines.  Of  course  the  conversation 
was  all  about  the  morning's  work  and  the 
afternoon  in  prospect.  Bhagavat  Singh, 
whose  conversation  generally  was  little  more 
than  platitudes,  was  interested  and  at  home 
when  it  came  to  discussing  a  hunt.  He  en- 
tertained his  guests  with  stories  of  his  own 
prowess. 

"My  respected  father,"  said  he,  "used  to 
know  Sir  Dunlop,  the  superintendent  of 
Hardwar,  and  also  Lord  Combernere.  With 
Captain  Mundy  and  Lieutenant  Rice,  they 
were  the  best  riflemen  of  my  father's  day.  I 
am  opposed,"  he  went  on,  "to  the  methods  of 
some  hunters.  I  don't  like  the  way  they  take 
refuge  in  bamboo  cages  from  which  they  can 
destroy  their  enemy  without  the  least  peril 
to  themselves!  No,  believe  me,  gentlemen, 
there  is  but  one  way  to  fight  wild  beasts :  that 


70  PARVATI 

is  to  attack  them  face  to  face  like  a  duelist. 
The  tiger  is  a  worthy  adversary  for  man!" 

The  maharaja  was  standing  now.  His  face 
was  lighted  up  with  interest  and  animation. 
Evidently  the  proud  old  blood  of  Rajput  con- 
querors came  into  its  own  when  it  was  a  mat- 
ter of  making  powder  speak.  Desroches  was 
impressed  by  the  quick  change  that  had  come 
over  the  face  of  the  young  monarch.  He  told 
himself  that  powerful  reserves  of  action  and 
vigor  were  latent  in  the  king,  whom  he  had 
judged  to  be  a  weakling.  He  was  conscious 
that  he  held  the  husband  of  Parvati  in  new 
esteem.  His  jealousy  of  the  man  who  pos- 
sessed the  only  woman  he  had  ever  loved  was 
suddenly  tinged  with  satisfaction  and  pride. 
He  realized  that  the  obstacle  between  him  and 
Parvati  was  no  small  one. 

The  lines  were  forming  again.  The  ele- 
phants were  finding  their  advance  more  and 
more  difficult  as  they  entered  a  narrow  path. 
Water  from  little  springs  oozed  up  from  the 
earth,  and  the  road  was  not  an  easy  one. 
They  were  entering  the  domain  of  his  Ma- 


PARVATI  71 

jesty  the  tiger.  At  the  top  of  a  little  knoll 
was  a  spot  of  bright  color.  It  was  the  Lasciate 
ogni  speranza  of  the  danger  zone,  a  strange 
shrine  put  up  at  the  place  where  a  man  had 
recently  been  devoured.  At  an  order  from 
the  sirdar  the  shikarees  stopped.  Their  role 
had  become  useless,  and  it  would  have  been 
cruel  to  expose  the  poor  devils  to  certain 
death.  They  would  be  needed  later,  at  the 
close  of  the  hunt,  to  carry  home  the  carcass  of 
the  victim. 

Vegetation  became  dense.  In  the  distance 
one  could  make  out  the  lake  of  Tal-Devi, 
where  the  animals  came  to  get  water.  As 
the  party  was  rounding  its  banks,  the  atten- 
tion of  the  hunters  was  attracted  by  the  sound 
of  beating  wings.  On  the  edge  of  the  pond, 
in  a  clump  of  reeds,  lay  the  carcass  of  an 
antelope  half-devoured  by  jackals.  On  torn 
pieces  of  flesh  sat  vultures.  This  meant  that 
the  quarry  was  near.  The  elephants,  as  if 
to  corroborate  this  first  sign,  moved  with  cau- 
tion. They  raised  their  trunks  above  the 
level  of  the  grass  or  even  folded  them  on  their 


72  PARVATI 

foreheads.  They  were  conscious  of  danger 
and  of  the  vulnerability  of  their  trunks.  The 
hunters  were  grave,  motionless,  silent,  a  little 
pale  with  the  pallor  that  comes  when  we  know 
an  invisible  enemy  is  near.  A  soft  sound 
among  the  dead  leaves,  as  of  breaking  twigs, 
was  heard.  It  seemed  to  come  from  a  little 
rise  of  ground  not  more  than  twenty  paces 
away.  Monkeys  were  hurrying  out  of  the 
reeds  into  the  branches  of  the  trees,  uttering 
shrill  cries.  Frightened  peacocks  flew  away. 
The  elephants  made  an  instinctive  movement 
of  retreat. 

"Tiger  Sahib!"  whispered  the  sirdar. 

The  reeds  parted,  yielding  to  a  mysterious 
movement,  and  a  royal  tiger  appeared.  It 
was  a  superb  male.  His  enormous  flat  head 
was  framed  in  whiskers.  His  mustaches  stif- 
fened, revealing  blood-red  gums.  He  stopped 
five  paces  away  from  the  elephant  upon  which 
d'Alizay  was  seated.  Then,  with  a  ferocious 
roar,  he  advanced  toward  his  nearest  assail- 
ant. Well  out  of  the  way,  on  the  top  of  his 
motionless  mount,  perched  the  marquis.  He 


PARVATI  73 

had  hunted  the  lion  at  Nairobi  and  the  grizzly 
in  the  Rockies.  He  waited  for  the  tiger  to 
spring.  With  marvelous  coolness  he  took  aim 
and  touched  the  trigger. 

The  animal  fell  back,  shot  through  the 
heart. 

"Bravo!"  cried  the  maharaja.  "You  killed 
him  with  your  first  shot!" 

But  d'Alizay,  a  veteran  hunter  accustomed 
to  surprises,  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  car- 
ried away  by  the  compliment  of  his  host. 
Phlegmatically  he  slipped  a  new  cartridge 
into  the  barrel  of  his  gun. 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  sirdar.  "I  think, 
too,  that  there  is  another." 

They  advanced  farther  into  the  under- 
growth, to  explore  it.  Nana  Singh,  Arwar- 
Dass,  and  Doctor  Canaridis  executed  a  turn- 
ing manoeuver.  This  was  meant  to  shut  off 
the  retreat  of  the  animal  in  case  it  should  try 
to  take  flight  in  the  direction  of  the  nullah. 
The  plan  could  not  fail. 

A  shot  was  heard,  followed  immediately  by 
a  second  one.  It  was  Desroches,  whose  ele- 


74  PARVATI 

phant  had  come  upon  the  mate  of  the  tiger 
killed  by  d'Alizay.  A  little  surprised  at  the 
sight  of  the  animal,  Gilbert  had  fired,  his 
shot  going  wild.  With  his  second  ball  he 
had  broken  a  rib  without  touching  any  vital 
organ.  The  wounded  tigress  gave  a  hoarse 
roar.  Then,  crouching,  she  sprang  to  the 
haunches  of  the  elephant.  It  was  an  agoniz- 
ing minute. 

"Don't  fire!"  cried  the  sirdar.  "You  might 
hit  his  Majesty." 

But  the  elephant,  feeling  the  sharp  claws  in 
her  flesh,  was  crazed  with  fright.  She  started 
to  run  through  the  brush,  in  spite  of  the  des- 
perate shouts  of  her  keeper.  Still  clinging  to 
the  elephant,  the  tigress  brought  her  paw 
down  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  painter  with 
a  terrible  blow.  She  withdrew  it  dripping 
with  blood.  Despite  the  terrible  pain,  the 
unfortunate  man  had  the  strength  to  tear  his 
revolver  from  its  case.  Then,  aiming  directly 
at  the  red  mouth,  he  fired  twice.  The  tigress 
released  her  hold  and  rolled  to  the  ground, 


PARVATI  75 

with  her  skull  fractured,  her  eyes  fixed,  and 
her  tongue  hanging. 

"Waou!  Sawbash  sahib!"  cried  the  Hin- 
dus, while  the  doctor,  followed  by  his  com- 
panions, hastened  toward  the  elephant,  now 
under  control. 

But  Gilbert  saw  and  heard  nothing.  It 
seemed  that  he  was  sinking  into  ground  that 
opened  up  under  him.  With  a  cry  he  fell 
backward  and  fainted  in  the  arms  of  his 
mahout. 

That  evening,  when  the  procession  filed  by 
under  the  windows  of  the  palace  of  Elysium, 
the  women  of  his  Highness  made  out  a 
stretcher  upon  which  lay  a  man's  form.  One 
shoulder  was  done  up  in  white  bandages. 
The  mahouts  carried  him  with  infinite  care. 

Parvati  leaned  forward,  her  face  grew  pale, 
and  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

Djalina  saw  it.  A  smile  of  hate  curled 
her  voluptuous  lips. 


VI 

But  the  void  within  my  heart  refused,  even  thus,  to  be 
filled.  I  longed  for  the  love  which  had  before  filled  it  to 
overflowing. 

— EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE  :  "Eleanora." 

DOCTOR  CANARIDIS  had  made  a  di- 
agnosis. The  terrible  blow  of  the  ti- 
ger's paw  had  broken  the  left  shoulder-blade, 
put  the  shoulder  out  of  joint,  and  torn  the 
flesh  so  that  stitches  had  to  be  taken.  The 
patient  was  tormented  with  fever  for  the  first 
few  days,  but,  thanks  to  the  skilful  care  given 
him  by  Mrs.  Williams,  his  temperature  was 
soon  normal.  Naturally,  the  complication  to 
be  feared  was  tetanus.  But  the  danger  of  this 
had  been  avoided  by  the  antiseptic  precautions 
carefully  seen  to  by  the  young  Greek  physi- 
cian. The  medical  attention  was  simple  but 
intelligent.  And  now,  tenderly  watched  over 
by  his  dear  big  friend,  Desroches  was  reclin- 
ing on  a  steamer  chair  in  the  hall  of  the 

76 


PARVATI  77 

bungalow.  His  left  arm  was  in  a  sling,  and 
with  his  right  hand  he  was  fanning  himself 
with  a  black  ostrich-feather  fan. 

"I  can't  help  shivering  when  I  think  of  it," 
he  was  saying  to  Verdier.  "I  owe  my  life 
to  my  brave  Zahour.  If  he  had  not  put  the 
revolver  into  my  hands  just  as  the  motor  was 
leaving,  you  would  have  gone  back  to  Paris 
alone,  old  fellow." 

"Don't  let 's  talk  about  it,"  answered  Noel. 
"You  must  try  to  put  it  out  of  your  memory. 
The  important  thing  is  that  you  are  here. 
In  a  few  minutes  you  will  go  to  the  party 
your  friends  have  arranged  for  you  at  the 
tennis-courts.  D'Alizay  and  the  Mesnil- 
Guiberts  came  back  yesterday  from  their  two 
weeks  in  Kashmir.  They  are  delighted  to  be 
here  in  time  to  help  celebrate  your  first  ap- 
pearance." 

"What  day  is  this?" 

"Tuesday." 

"Ah!"  murmured  Gilbert,  pensively.  A 
faint  color  rose  to  his  pale,  thin  cheeks. 

Tuesday! 


78  PARVATI 

It  was  one  of  the  days  when  the  maharanee 
could  leave  the  Elysium.  She  would  be  there 
at  the  tennis-courts,  perhaps,  looking  on  at 
the  game.  Her  position  as  queen  prevented 
her  from  playing.  The  thought  of  seeing  her 
filled  him  with  joy.  How  many  times  during 
his  hours  of  delirium  had  he  called  to  his 
bedside  the  woman  who  reigned  now  in  his 
heart!  How  many  times  had  he  thought  he 
was  pressing  his  burning  mouth  to  the  cool 
white  hand!  But  he  had  awakened  in  con- 
fusion to  meet  only  the  fingers  of  the  theoso- 
phist,  or  to  touch  the  wedding-ring  of  the 
widowed  Mrs.  Williams.  He  had  seen  a  sur- 
prised and  indulgent  smile  on  the  lips  of  the 
Irishwoman. 

And  for  three  long  weeks  he  had  been  with- 
out news.  How  he  worried  over  her  anxiety! 
It  had  been  impossible  to  correspond  with 
her.  He  was  afraid  she  would  be  changed, 
indifferent.  He  was  timid,  for  he  was  gen- 
uinely in  love.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to 
confide  in  the  doctor,  although  she  probably 
had  received  many  confidences  in  her  time. 


PARVATI  79 

As  for  speaking  with  Verdier,  he  would  see 
himself  dead  before  he  would  risk  a  scolding 
from  his  friend.  He  knew  well  enough  that 
Noel  Verdier  would  not  spare  him  for  launch- 
ing upon  so  romantic  an  adventure.  And  so 
his  new  passion  put  between  the  friends  the 
barrier  of  a  secret.  They  both  remained 
silent.  The  silence  weighed  upon  Verdier. 
He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"It  is  a  quarter  of  five.  Perhaps  we  had 
better  be  on  our  way." 

"Just  as  you  say,"  Gilbert  acquiesced,  rising. 

They  went  outdoors.  In  the  street  there 
was  unusual  traffic.  Coolies  passed  by,  laden 
with  boards.  Zebus  drew  carts  filled  with 
hardware,  bunting,  and  flags.  The  rasping 
voice  of  a  foreman  shouting  orders  could  be 
heard.  Farther  along,  two  court  architects 
were  absorbed  in  superintending  the  construc- 
tion of  a  triumphal  arch.  His  Highness 
would  pass  under  it  upon  his  return  from  the 
feudal  ceremonies  of  the  Durbar. 

The  royal  birthday  was  approaching,  and 
this  year  the  festivities  bid  fair  to  outshine  all 


8o  PARVATI 

the  others.  When  they  arrived  at  the  courts, 
Arwar-Dass,  perched  on  one  of  the  benches, 
sang  out: 

"Thirty-forty!" 

"A  fast  set,"  the  marquis  whispered  in  the 
Sejournes'  ears.  "But  they  were  not  able  to 
steal  it  with  the  balls  they  cut.  I  don't  like 
that  game." 

There  was  applause,  courteous  but  at  the 
same  time  discreet.  The  king  had  been 
beaten,  and  much  enthusiasm  would  have  been 
out  of  place.  The  arrival  of  the  convalescent 
Frenchman  furnished  a  welcome  diversion. 

"Hello!  there's  our  invalid!"  laughed  the 
baron,  who  had  been  the  first  to  see  Gilbert 
and  his  friend. 

There  was  a  tempest  of  joyful  greetings. 
Bhagavat  Singh  himself  forgot  his  habitual 
indifference. 

"My  warmest  congratulations,  my  dear  fel- 
low!" he  said,  shaking  the  hand  of  the  painter. 
"I  have  twenty- two  tigers  to  my  credit,  but 
— well,  I  have  never  seen  a  closer  shave  than 
you  had.  I  hope  you  have  recovered  fully." 


PARVATI  81 

"The  doctor  has  prescribed  the  scarf,  your 
Highness,  but  only  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  In 
three  days — at  the  time  of  the  feasts — I  shall 
leave  it  off:  it  makes  me  look  like  a  wounded 
highwayman.  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  your 
Highness,"  he  added,  "for  your  kindness  dur- 
ing my  illness.  I  was  profoundly  touched." 

"Ah!  but  it  was  natural  that  I  should  be 
concerned!  Were  you  not  my  guest  and  the 
portraitist  of  the  maharnee? — Which  reminds 
me,  Lady  Turner:  did  you  not  tell  me  that 
the  princess  was  coming  here  to  congratulate 
Monsieur  Desroches?" 

"Yes,  your  Majesty,"  replied  the  English- 
woman. "But  it  is  only  five  o'clock.  The 
queen  has  just  left  the  Elysium." 

"Your  Highness  is  too  good,"  replied  the 
painter.  "After  the  kind  wishes  which  she 
has  sent  me,  I  want  to  thank  her.  As  soon  as 
I  can  remove  this  scarf,  I  shall  return  to  my 
work.  And  I  hope  that  in  one  or  two  sittings 
I  shall  be  able  to  finish  the  portrait." 

The  maharaja  smiled  enigmatically,  a  little 
constrainedly.  The  seeds  of  suspicion  which 


8a  PARVATI 

Djalina  had  sown  had  begun  to  shake  his  con- 
fidence. His  consciousness  of  power  did  not 
release  him  from  distrust.  Gilbert  read  all 
this  in  the  king's  look,  and  he  hastily  changed 
the  subject. 

Gilbert's  friends  gathered  around.  All  of 
them,  especially  the  women,  hurled  questions 
at  him.  Had  he  suffered  much?  Had  he 
realized  the  danger?  Desroches  thanked 
them,  laughing  at  the  thought  that,  without 
dreaming  of  it,  he  had  become  a  hero.  His 
friends  hung  upon  his  words,  and  their  hair 
stood  on  end  as  they  listened  to  the  recital 
of  his  unsought  adventure.  Men  brought 
glasses  for  champagne.  People  gave  him 
flowers. 

While  Gustave-Adolphe  were  launching 
upon  the  account  of  their  journey  in  Kashmir, 
the  little  baroness  disappeared.  She  came 
back  in  a  few  minutes,  accompanied  by  her 
husband.  He  had  a  package  in  his  arms.  It 
was  sizable,  and  elaborately  tied  up. 

"And  what  is  this?"  asked  Gilbert. 


PARVATI  83 

"A  surprise,"  replied  Odette.  "Undo  it 
yourself." 

The  painter  tackled  one  of  the  knots.  The 
paper  was  opened  and  revealed  first  a  formid- 
able paw,  then  a  flat,  mustached  head  fol- 
lowed by  the  splendid  skin. 

"Your  trophy!"  cried  Mademoiselle  Aspa- 
sie. 

"You  mean  to  say  this  is  the  animal  whose 
victim  I  nearly  was!"  replied  the  "hero," 
stroking  the  tiger  skin. 

"It  was  not  the  will  of  Shiva,"  said  a  grave, 
musical  voice,  at  the  sound  of  which  every- 
body turned  instinctively. 

Gilbert  trembled.  Parvati  was  standing  in 
front  of  him,  holding  out  her  daintily  gloved 
hand.  She  was  exquisitely  dressed  in  Euro- 
pean fashion.  She  had  on  a  white  embroid- 
ered dress.  On  her  head  was  a  black  velvet 
picture-hat  trimmed  with  soft  roses.  She  was 
accompanied  by  Miss  Brown,  whose  hideous 
tailored  suit  emphasized  the  beauty  of  the 
queen. 


"I  want  to  hear  the  story  of  your  terrible 
experience,"  said  Parvati  to  Gilbert. 

The  maharaja,  racquet  in  hand,  moved  to- 
ward the  court,  to  take  his  revenge.  The 
queen  sat  down  beside  Gilbert,  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  judge's  tribune.  And  there 
Desroches  told  the  maharanee  and  her  chap- 
eron of  his  dramatic  adventure. 

And  Parvati,  with  half-shut  eyes,  listened 
to  the  painful  story.  Sometimes  it  was  diffi- 
cult for  her  to  hide  her  feelings,  but  she  held 
herself  in  admirable  control.  She  knew  very 
well  that  all  eyes  were  upon  her.  When  he 
came  to  the  part  where  he  fainted,  she  stopped 
him. 

"Finish  in  French,"  she  said.  "I  love  your 
language.  It  is  vibrant,  expressive." 

Gilbert  told  her  how  he  suffered  as  the 
procession  filed  silently  beneath  the  closed 
windows  of  the  palace  of  Elysium.  And-  his 
voice  suddenly  lowered,  he  murmured: 

"To  know  that  at  the  moment  when  I  was 
passing  your  windows,  perhaps  dying,  you 


PARVATI  85 

were  a  prisoner  in  that  jail,  that  I  might  have 
to  die  without  seeing  you  again!  You  will 
never  realize  what  I  felt!" 

And  she  put  in  softly:  "I  was  there,  back 
of  the  lattice." 

"You  saw  me?" 

"Yts.     Take  care.     Some  one  is  watching 


us." 


"Why  could  I  not  have  died?  You  could 
have  loved  me  without  fear.  As  it  is — " 

"Don't  say  that." 

"Then  I  may  hope?" 

"Oh,  be  careful!  They  are  spying  upon  us. 
You  know  well  enough  I  am  surrounded  by 
enemies." 

"What  difference  does  that  make!  I  will 
snatch  you  from  their  claws,  in  spite  of  your- 
self if  I  must!" 

"Speak  English,  please  speak  English!  At 
least  for  a  while,  because  of  Miss  Brown." 

Half  willingly,  he  obeyed,  and  in  natural 
tones,  continued  the  story.  But  it  was  hardly 
necessary,  for  the  chaperon  was  carried  away 


86  PAR  VAT  I 

by  the  tennis  and  had  no  time  to  listen.  The 
painter  noticed  that,  and  involuntarily  re- 
turned to  French: 

"I  know  you  are  unhappy,  condemned. 
Yes,  condemned,"  he  repeated,  with  a  warmth 
that  stirred  her  deliciously.  "You  are  the 
queen,  of  course,  but  you  are  not  loved!  My 
life  is  an  episode  in  human  existence,  and  we 
know  very  little  about  human  existence.  I 
am  concerned  only  with  the  present.  In  the 
present  I  met  you.  I  don't  want  you  to  be 
unhappy!  If  you  only  knew  how  much  I 
love  you !" 

"Be  quiet,  my  friend,  you  must  not — " 

"Yes,  I  love  you,  I  want  you,  I  will  have 
you!  Don't  say 'No.'  It  is  written.  It  must 
come.  I  cannot  live  like  this.  I  tell  you,  it 
must  be.  I  shall  do  something  desperate,  you 
know." 

And  she,  suddenly  apprehensive,  said  hur- 
riedly: 

"Not  that,  my  friend.  We  should  both  be 
lost.  We  must  be  reasonable,  you  see.  I  am 
willing  to  be  your  friend,  to  have  you  the 


PARVATI  87 

master  of  my  thoughts,  if  I  may  put  it  that 
way.  But  for  the  rest,  you  know  I  am  not 
free.  I  do  not  belong  to  myself.  I  am  bound 
by  sworn  pledges." 

"I  shall  find  a  way  to  have  you  for  mine, 
and  then  you  will  be  the  first  one  to  laugh 
at  your  scruples." 

She  did  not  answer. 

The  tennis  was  progressing.  The  players 
were  beginning  the  sixth  game.  The  ma- 
haraja  was  beaming.  His  opponents  were 
weakening.  The  spectators  were  following 
the  game  closely  now. 

"Listen  to  me,"  Gilbert  began  again.  "I 
must  see  you,  I  must  talk  to  you  for  the  sake 
of  our  peace  of  mind.  Don't  refuse.  You 
cannot  escape  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"The  Durbar  festivities  are  coming.  Sur- 
veillance is  bound  to  be  less  strict.  There 
will  be  fetes  at  the  court.  Arrange  a  meeting. 
After  that,  you  can  do  with  me  what  you  will. 
I  will  leave  the  country,  if  you  command  it." 

"I  cannot—" 


88  PARVATI 

"Then  I  know  what  is  left  for  me  to  do." 
"Gilbert!" 

"Answer  me!    One  evening,  one  hour?" 
"I  will  try." 

Applause.     Bhagavat  Singh  had  won  the 
second  set. 


VII 

Women  have  honey  in  their  words  and  poison  in  their 
hearts.  — KAMASUTRA. 

MARQUISE  DE  KEREGAL 
Villa  "Marie  Hermine" 

Cannes-Californie :    Alpes-Maritimes 

JEYPORE:  RAJPUTANA 

December  4,  19 — 
My  dear  Christiane: 

Your  nice  letter,  which  came  yesterday, 
gave  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  Write  me 
sixteen-page  letters  often !  I  promise  that  you 
will  not  lose  in  the  exchange,  and,  as  a  proof 
of  good  faith,  I  warn  you  that  this  letter  will 
not  be  less  than  twenty  pages  long! 

You  are  warned — twenty  pages!  If  you 
have  better  things  to  do,  leave  your  Odette's 
scribble  and  amuse  yourself  with  your  golf, 
your  auction  bridge,  your  puzzles,  and  your 

89 


90  PARVATI 

flirtations.  You  can  come  back  to  my  letter 
later  in  the  evening,  in  bed  with  your  husband. 
On  second  thought — no !  I  'd  rather  have  you 
read  it  at  once,  and  by  yourself.  There  are 
confidences  for  you  alone.  The  men  hide  so 
many  things  from  us  that  we  must  get  back 
at  them  a  little. 

My  last  letter  gave  you  details  of  the  acci- 
dent to  poor  Desroches.  A  narrow  escape  for 
our  portraitist!  For  three  days  he  was  de- 
lirious with  fever.  The  doctor  who  attended 
him — Doctor  Pelopidas  Canaridis,  a  Greek, 
not  a  bad  sort,  despite  his  ridiculous  name — 
was  afraid  of  tetanus.  You  can  guess  how 
nervous  we  all  were.  And  now,  thank 
heaven,  he  's  safe.  We  have  planned  a  little 
celebration  in  his  honor — champagne,  flowers, 
speeches,  and,  in  conclusion,  my  noble  hus- 
band the  baron  will  present  the  skin  of  the 
tigress. 

And  now  there  are  all  kinds  of  celebrations, 
no  end  of  them.  As  I  write,  the  cannon 
booms,  the  people  acclaim  their  ruler.  It 's 
the  Durbar,  the  solemn  annual  demonstration 


PARVATI  91 

in  honor  of  the  birthday  of  his  Highness.  It 
involves  a  religious  service,  a  speech  from  the 
throne,  a  review  with  a  parade,  the  offering 
of  feudal  dues,  a  garden-party,  polo  matches, 
cricket,  tennis,  military  sports,  cock-  and  ele- 
phant-fights (not  together!),  the  distribution 
of  gifts  to  the  common  people,  and  others  to 
the  Brahmans ;  and  endless  other  things.  Day 
after  to-morrow  evening  a  gala  dinner  at  the 
court,  followed  by  music,  songs,  and  native 
dances.  Then  fireworks.  The  park  and  the 
sacred  crocodile  and  turtle  pond  will  be  illu- 
minated. 

Poor  beasts! 

What  interested  me  most  was  the  religious 
service.  It  took  place  yesterday  morning 
under  a  canopy  stretched  in  the  royal  court. 
The  maharaja  was  arrayed  in  a  magnificent 
costume  of  emerald-green  silk,  piped  with 
gold — solid  gold,  you  know.  The  buttons 
were  of  large  Mogok  rubies  (pigeon-blood, 
my  dear!) .  Around  his  neck  was  a  pearl  col- 
lar with  twelve  rows  of  pearls  (as  big  as  nuts, 
and  brilliant!  I  shall  never  want  to  wear 


92  PARVATI 

mine).  On  the  aigrette  of  his  turban  glit- 
tered a  diamond  the  size  of  the  one  in  the 
regent's  crown.  And  yet — you  won't  believe 
me — the  prince  did  not  look  in  the  least 
pleased,  even  with  those  wonderful  adorn- 
ments. The  golden  saber  incrusted  with 
turquoises  got  in  his  way  when  he  moved. 
And  during  the  ceremony,  if  you  could  have 
seen  how  pathetic  he  looked !  But,  then,  put 
yourself  in  his  place.  There  he  was,  squat- 
ting on  his  cushions  with  enough  jewels  to 
fill  a  show  window  on  the  Rue  de  la  Paix. 
He  was  surrounded  by  European  guests. 
Loads  of  beautiful  women — I  don't  refer  to 
myself;  you  know  me!  And  then  he  was 
doomed  to  listen  for  half  an  hour,  and  with 
a  rapt  expression,  to  the  endless  droning  of 
a  litanized  horoscope  by  a  Brahman  who 
flatted.  You  '11  admit  that  it  was  n't  the  most 
amusing  thing  in  the  world  to  do ! 

Well,  our  Bhagavat  was  admirable.  The 
priests  threw  rice  in  his  face,  according  to 
the  rites,  and  he  did  n't  move  a  muscle.  The 
joke  of  it  was  that  we  fired  rice  at  him,  too! 


PARVATI  93 

A  question  of  politeness.  We  ought  to  intro- 
duce that  fashion  next  summer  at  Deauville. 
To  begin  with,  we  '11  try  it  on  our  husbands. 
Nothing  better  for  one's  health.  Better  even 
than  physical  culture! 

At  the  end  of  the  religious  ceremony,  the 
Brahman  women  were  charmingly  attentive. 
They  offered  us  cakes  made  of  rancid  butter, 
all  according  to  the  rites.  They  crowned  us 
with  yellow  flowers  (very  amusing:  the  men 
made  such  faces!)  and,  last  of  all,  chalked 
marks  on  our  foreheads  just  above  the  bridge 
of  the  nose.  In  return  for  these  courtesies, 
the  maharaja  presentee!  each  one  of  the  women 
with  a  white  horse,  a  zebu,  and  a  measure  of 
rice — not  a  bad  offering,  you  will  admit. 

And  when  I  left,  I  still  had  on  my  forehead 
the  seal  of  Shiva-Tandava,  vanquisher  of  the 
demon  king  of  Tripura;  the  princely  "De- 
stroyer" of  the  Trimurti  or  Brahman  trinity. 
(You  must  think  me  learned;  it  is  our  austere 
Verdier  who  has  tutored  me.)  But  really,  I 
don't  mind  being  tattooed  with  the  seal  of  the 
god  of  love  and  death  occasionally,  in  pass- 


94  PARVATI 

ing;  but  if  I  had  to  end  my  days  in  a  Hindu 
harem!  Brr!  I  'd  much  rather  cut  my  hair 
off  at  once  and  take  the  veil  with  our  good 
Dominican  Mothers.  And  yet  you  will  re- 
member that  in  the  Rue  de  Lubeck  I  did  not 
exactly  have  the  divine  calling! 

To  give  you  an  idea  of  the  life  of  the  ranees 
of  his  Highness,  day  before  yesterday  I  visited 
them  at  the  Elysium.  These  women — and 
some  of  them  are  of  highest  caste;  for  ex- 
ample, Maharanee  Parvati — live  the  life  of 
courtezans  and  slaves.  And  even  at  that  they 
must  deem  themselves  very  happy  that  they 
need  no  longer  accompany  the  dead  body  of 
their  hu-sband  to  the  crematory.  To-day,  shut 
in, -cloistered  (like  cattle  conveniently  herded 
for  the  royal  pleasure),  they  have  one  fixed 
idea — to  envy  and  hurt  one  another.  There 
are  some,  too,  who  love  one  another  too  well, 
sometimes!  They  are  the  cast-off  ones,  those 
whom  his  Highness  does  not  honor  with  his 
visk.  Most  of  them  hate  one  another ;  it  helps 
to  pass  away  the  time.  Imagine  fifteen 
women  living  together  from  one  year's  end  to 


PARVATI  95 

another!  With  the  exception  of  the  mahara- 
nee,  who  is  favored  because  she  is  semi-Euro- 
pean, these  poor  creatures  never  go  out  except 
by  fours,  in  a  carriage  hermetically  sealed  and 
drawn  by  horses  or  camels — safe  from  the 
eyes  of  impious  foreigners — or  two  by  two 
carried  in  a  closed  palanquin  by  inhuman 
eunuchs  with  bloodshot  eyes. 

The  maharaja  has  no  children.  The  suc- 
cession will  probably  go  to  his  cousin  Arjouna, 
eldest  son  of  his  uncle  Nana  Singh.  The 
lack  of  children  among  the  fifteen  ranees  of 
the  zenana  is  a  blessing.  For  no  one  of  them 
is  superior  to  another  in  this  respect.  In- 
terminable disputes  between  the  mothers  and 
those  who  have  no  children  are  avoided.  But 
other  reasons — jealousy,  ambition,  love — in- 
cite them  sometimes  to  base  vengeances,  even 
to  murder.  The  instrument  of  death  implies 
a  refinement  of  cruelty  and  deception  which 
surpasses  anything  one  can  imagine.  Now  it 
is  a  cord  which  strangles;  now  it  is  the  poi- 
soned brew  that  puts  you  to  sleep  never  to 
wake  again.  Again,  it  is  a  tarantula  or  scor- 


96  PAR  VAT  I 

pion  hidden  in  a  mosquito-netting,  not  to 
speak  of  secret  poisons  that  kill  without  leav- 
ing a  trace.  These  women  never  eat  candy 
without  first  making  sure  it  is  harmless  by 
trying  it  on  a  slave.  There  were  lately  two 
sudden  deaths  at  the  Elysium  that  have  re- 
mained a  mystery.  The  culprits  are  unpun- 
ished and  live  without  remorse  and  with 
smiles  on  their  lips. 

Lady  O'Brien,  the  wife  of  the  English  po- 
litical representative  at  the  court  of  Ambala, 
told  me  one  of  these  tragedies  of  the  harem. 
She  got  it  straight  from  her  husband's  lips,  and 
it  is  enough  to  make  your  hair  stand  on  end! 

One  of  the  princesses  of  this  zenana,  the 
Ranee  Prithivi,  bid  fair  to  supplant  the  Ranee 
Bawani  in  the  favor  of  the  king.  Bawani  was 
a  dangerous  creature,  of  a  superb  bronze  color, 
who  had  the  sovereign  under  her  thumb.  A 
plot  was  formed  against  the  unfortunate 
Prithivi,  and  with  the  greatest  secrecy  her 
death  was  planned.  One  day  she  lay  down, 
with  a  headache,  first  sending  a  servant  to 
ask  the  druggist  of  the  palace  for  some  anti- 


PAR  VAT  I  97 

pyrin  capsules.  Within  an  hour,  a  box  of 
capsules  was  placed  on  the  table  beside  her 
bed.  The  princess  took  one  of  them.  In  the 
evening,  the  remedy  having  relieved  the  pain, 
she  ate  a  little  supper  and  went  to  sleep.  Dur- 
ing the  night  she  died  in  agony.  Under 
orders  of  the  maharaja,  an  investigation  was 
made  by  the  prime  minister,  the  dewan. 
They  made  an  autopsy  and  found  in  the  stom- 
ach a  white  powder,  which,  after  analysis,  was 
recognized  to  be  the  antipyrin  delivered  by  the 
druggist.  But  on  investigating  further,  the 
doctors  discovered  that  the  intestines  were 
perforated  with  stiff  white  hairs.  A  criminal 
hand  had  opened  the  capsules  while  the  ranee 
was  asleep  and  had  slipped  into  them  tiny 
bundles  of  rolled-up  hair,  from  the  mustache 
of  a  tiger.  The  heat  of  the  body  had  made 
the  hairs  straighten  and  they  had  done  the 
work  of  destruction.  Of  course  the  affair  was 
hushed  up.  The  absence  of  the  Princess 
Prithivi  was  noticed.  To  those  who  inquired 
for  her  health  an  evasive  answer  was  made: 
"The  ranee  is  traveling.  She  is  in  the 


98  PARVATI 

Himalayas."  And  after  that  no  one  pursued 
the  matter. 

Enough  of  this  dark  drama.  Let  us  come 
back  to  the  Durbar. 

Yesterday  we  had  the  feudal  ceremony.  It 
is  a  symbol  of  the  vassalage  of  the  subjects  of 
his  Highness.  By  subjects  I  mean  the  minis- 
ters, chamberlains,  and  other  court  dignitaries, 
superior  officers,  notables  of  the  cities,  farmers, 
tenants,  and  rich  merchants  of  the  capital, 
representing  the  people.  Each  one  of  these 
vassals,  when  his  name  was  called  according 
to  the  hierarchical  order,  passed  before  the 
king,  repeating  phrases  formally  prescribed. 
As  he  bowed,  he  dropped  a  rupee  on  a  silver 
tray.  This  lasts  for  three  long  hours,  al- 
though at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  you  are 
weary  of  it. 

There  is  a  curious  custom,  however,  show- 
ing how  great  is  the  Hindu  superstition  even 
in  this  court.  A  chamberlain,  a  favorite  up 
until  this  time,  goes  before  the  throne.  Un- 
fortunately, he  catches  his  foot  in  a  fold  of 
the  carpet.  He  loses  his  balance  and  his  piece 


PARVATI  99 

of  tribute  money  falls  before  the  king  can 
touch  it  with  his  hand.  The  latter  gives  the 
courtier  a  black  look,  so  that  he  blushes,  stam- 
mers an  apology,  and  withdraws  in  confu- 
sion. I  asked  Noel  Verdier,  who  understands 
these  things,  for  an  explanation  of  the  inci- 
dent. It  appears  that  by  failing  to  touch  the 
hand  of  the  sovereign  with  the  symbolic  rupee 
the  vassal  implied  his  bad  faith.  Custom  de- 
mands in  this  case  of  the  "judgment  of  God" 
that  the  functionary  be  deprived  of  office. 

Poor  fellow!  Now  I  understand  his  dis- 
comfiture. I  must  ask  the  wicked  Bhagavat 
to  pardon  him. 

For  three  days  we  Ve  had  a  constant  stream 
of  princely  guests.  Special  apartments  have 
been  fitted  up  for  them.  Most  of  the  poten- 
tates of  India  (except  the  Nizam  of  Hydera- 
bad, a  blase,  worldly  fellow  who  turns  up 
his  nose  at  Brahman  fetes  because  he  is  a 
Moslem),  were  invited  for  the  five-day  fes- 
tivities. The  Gaikwar  of  Baroda,  a  reformer 
of  the  school  systems,  arrived  here  the  day 
before  yesterday  in  company  with  the  Ma- 


ioo  PARVATI 

harana  of  Udaipur  and  the  Raja  of  Jind. 
The  Udaipur  one  is  a  dear.  To-day  they 
expect  the  Jam  of  Nawanagar,  a  crack  cricket- 
player  and  a  personal  friend  of  our  host,  the 
Begum  of  Bhopal — a  sort  of  Hindu  Wilhel- 
mina  who  administers  her  kingdom  a  la 
feministe;  that  is  to  say  without  the  help  of 
the  prince  consort — and  his  Highness  the 
Agha-Khan  from  Calcutta! 

The  maharajas  of  Gwalior,  of  Bikanir,  and 
of  Jodhpur  are  announced  for  to-morrow 
morning,  together  with  our  great  Parisian 
from  Kapurthala.  It  will  be  a  joy  to  see  him 
here  with  his  faithful  aide-de-camp.  You 
know,  the  charming  captain  was  the  rage  of 
Dinard;  you  don't  forget  him!  Have  I  told 
you,  my  darling,  that  upon  our  arrival  at 
Jeypore,  Olivier  and  I  had  a  pressing  and 
friendly  invitation  from  Kapurthala?  If  it 
had  n't  been  for  the  accident  to  Gilbert,  and 
the  Durbar  fetes,  we  should  be  there  now. 
I  am  anxious  to  visit  the  capital  and  to  see 
the  splendid  French  palace  he  has  built  there 
and  especially  his  gardens  laid  out  in  our  own 


PARVATI  101 

style.  Mansart  and  Lenotre  in  the  midst  of 
the  Punjab,  next-door  to  Lahore,  like  a  replica 
of  the  pagoda  of  the  Duke  of  Choiseul  at 
Chanteloup.  That  is  a  feat!  It  could  be 
performed  by  nobody  else  but  his  Highness 
Jagatjit  Singh! 

I  don't  know  yet  what  Gustave-Adolphe 
will  do.  I  think  they  will  make  straight  for 
Benares,  but  I  have  no  desire  to  go  with  them. 
D'Alizay  and  Mesnil-Guibert  are  jolly  com- 
panions, but  unfortunately  they  are  mixed  up 
with  a  little  fool,  the  Countess  Jehanne,  who 
thinks  she  is  somebody  since  she  has  added 
to  her  husband's  seal  her  own,  a  golden  pot 
of  oleomargarine  in  a  field  of  azure. 

I  like  the  purple  papal  crown  of  my  hus- 
band better.  But  don't  let  me  get  silly.  I 
have  already  described  to  you  the  good  face 
of  the  fat  old  maid,  Mademoiselle  Agatho- 
poulos,  who  admires  the  stronger  sex.  Lady 
Gladys,  who  has  rather  a  long  tongue,  says 
that  Mademoiselle  is  a  vicious  woman.  To 
tell  the  truth,  she  appears  with  a  different 
secretary  each  year,  generally  a  handsome  fel- 


102  PAR  VAT  I 

low.  This  time  Aspasie  went  to  Naples  to 
find  her  Pericles,  a  certain  Titto  Ricciotti, 
who  adores  tennis.  But  the  caro  signor  has 
his  nose  out  of  joint  since  the  Hindu  guests 
of  his  Highness  arrived.  By  Jove,  but  they 
are  good-looking!  as  our  little  Miss  K.  D.  S. 
Eppleton  of  Washington,  D.  C.,  says. 

And  Desroches?  Just  between  ourselves, 
he  is  a  bit  changed,  our  Gilbert.  I  attribute 
his  melancholy  air  more  to  the  flirtation  with 
his  model  than  to  the  wound  the  tiger  gave 
him.  Do  you  suppose  he  is  in  love?  I  'd 
wager  it  is  the  first  time.  I  must  look  into 
it.  Gilbert  in  love! — the  butterfly  that  never 
has  stopped  very  long  with  any  flower;  he  who 
has  shot  so  many  cruel  darts  and  has  never 
been  hit,  himself!  And  who  has  made  him 
lose  his  head,  I  ask  you?  A  little  dark- 
skinned  girl  who  poses  as  a  Parisian!  Hon- 
estly, I  never  understood  what  Tikka  saw  in 
her.  It  is  true  that  our  host  has  lost  interest 
since  the  honeymoon  and  is  quadrupling  his 
harem. 

But  he  laughs  best  who  laughs  last!    You 


PARVATI  103 

can  hang  me  if  I  do  not  demonstrate  to  our 
illustrious  portrait  painter  by  A  plus  B  that 
he  is  playing  with  fire.  We  are  not  on  Eng- 
lish soil;  and  with  all  his  air  of  indifference 
Bhagavat  is  perfectly  capable  of  sending  Gil- 
bert on  a  "voyage  in  the  Himalayas"  like 
poor  Prithivi,  and  of  complaining  afterward 
to  the  consul,  even  to  the  viceroy! 

Here  is  the  end  of  my  gossip.  You  have 
the  twenty  pages  I  promised  you  in  the  be- 
ginning. There  is  only  one  hour  before  the 
garden-party  and  I  must  slip  into  my  tussor. 

With  many  loving  kisses,  I  am 
Your  friend, 

ODETTE. 


VIII 

He  was  going  crazy;  it  seemed  to  him  they  were  kiss- 
ing each  other  before  his  eyes.  "That  is  impossible,  in 
my  presence  ;  my  reason  is  gone." 

—  STENDAHL:  La  Chartreuse  de  Parme. 


figures  clothed  in  red  tunics  and 
white  trousers,  their  heads  adorned  with 
king's-blue  turbans,  rolled  high,  a  la  sikhe, 
were  mounting  guard.  On  the  staircase  of 
honor  their  lances  formed  a  vault  of  steel. 
The  men  were  superb,  almost  giants.  A 
strange  dark  light  flashed  from  time  to  time 
from  their  eyes,  and  on  their  lips  was  an  enig- 
matic smile.  They  were  the  Lancers  of  the 
Guard  —  mountaineers  from  the  North  re- 
cruited from  roundabout  the  Aravalli  Hills, 
and  nomads  from  the  arid  desert  of  Thur. 
Many  of  them  had  embraced  the  Jainism  of 
the  twenty-four  prophets.  Nevertheless,  they 

had  not  wavered  in  fidelity  to  their  sover- 

104 


PAR  VAT  I  105 

eign,  who  was  an  orthodox  Brahman.  They 
proved  their  good  faith  in  the  service  of  the 
empire  when  some  engaged  in  the  Afghan 
campaign  and  others  formed  a  part  of  the 
Somali  expedition,  two  wars  where  in  brav- 
ery and  audacity  they  rivaled  the  legendary 
prowess  of  the  troops  of  Kapurthala  and 
Bikanir. 

European  guests,  princes,  courtiers  were 
slowly  moving  up  the  marble  steps  between 
the  human  hedges,  who  in  the  splendor  of  the 
illuminations  recalled  the  imposing  legions  of 
long  ago,  those  whom  Tippoo  and  Nana 
Sahib  led,  the  first  to  victory,  the  second  to 
defeat.  The  warlike  country — independent, 
historic — was  living  again  a  past  of  useless  but 
grand  heroism.  And  there  were  darkness  and 
mystery  in  the  eyes  of  these  living  statues,  who 
to-night  looked  upon  the  great  of  India  pass- 
ing by. 

Within  the  palace,  guests  crowded  around 
a  dinner-table  set  for  sixty.  An  informal 
reception  was  to  follow  the  banquet.  Two 


io6  PARVATI 

dancers,  imported  at  great  price  from  Delhi 
and  Agra,  were  to  entertain  the  assembly. 
The  evening  was  to  end  with  fireworks.  Cus- 
tom demanded  that  the  entertainment  be  ex- 
clusively national:  a  Hindu  dinner,  a  royal 
table,  and  another  for  the  officers.  To  this 
end,  the  maharaja,  careful  to  offend  the  re- 
ligious prejudices  of  no  one,  had  arranged  for 
the  use  of  two  wings  of  the  palace.  The  left 
wing  was  for  the  lieutenants  and  captains  and 
majors  of  the  Brahman  religion.  There  were 
two  tables,  two  kitchens.  It  was  curious  to 
see  brothers  in  arms  separated  for  a  time  by 
the  question  of  their  bill  of  fare.  One  set 
had  a  horror  of  beef,  the  other  indignantly 
repudiated  ham  I 

In  the  drawing-rooms  one  heard  many 
languages — Hindustani,  Urdu,  Bengali,  Eng- 
lish, French,  Italian,  and  even  Greek.  The 
costumes,  too,  were  of  an  infinite  variety,  from 
the  low-cut  gowns  of  European  women  to  the 
soft  draperies  of  the  Far  East.  But  the 
Asiatic  note  dominated. 

A  silence  fell.     The  assembly  rose  respect- 


PARVATI  107 

fully  when  a  hussar  opened  the  doors.  The 
chamberlain,  master  of  ceremonies,  appeared 
on  the  threshold  and  in  a  ringing  voice  an- 
nounced, "Their  Highnesses  the  Maharaja 
and  the  Maharanee  of  the  State  of  Jeypore." 
Bhagavat  Singh  and  Parvati  were  in  full 
court  costume.  He  wore  a  purple  velvet 
tunic,  with  sapphire  buttons  and  fringes  of 
gold,  and  white  satin  trousers,  baggy  at  the 
knees  and  close-fitting  at  the  ankles.  On  his 
head  was  a  diadem  studded  with  brilliants  and 
pearls  that  held  in  place  a  Venetian  doge's 
cap,  surmounted  by  an  aigrette.  She  wore 
the  national  Rajput  costume  of  Nattier  blue 
(caught  at  the  breast  with  a  beryl  brooch), 
and  a  veil  of  white  tulle.  Her  hair  was 
parted  and  held  in  with  a  band  of  pearls  and 
emeralds,  just  as  Gilbert's  inspired  brush  had 
painted  it.  The  monarch  assumed  the  solem- 
nity required  by  circumstances,  but  his  sem- 
blance of  majesty  was  no  illusion  to  the  throng. 
The  people  saw  in  him  only  a  multimillion- 
aire who  knew  how  to  spend  his  immense 
wealth,  near  whom  one  could  always  pick  up 


io8  PARVATI 

a  few  plums.  The  two  of  them  advanced 
toward  the  princes  of  royal  blood  and  after 
saluting  them  ceremoniously,  mingled  with 
the  crowd.  The  maharaja,  noticing  among 
the  guests  the  gala  uniform  of  the  English 
Governor  of  the  District  of  Ajmir,  moved 
toward  him,  accompanied  by  the  dewan, 
Dhanpat-Roy. 

The  prime  minister  was  the  only  man 
among  those  grouped  around  the  king  who 
was  worth  anything.  Bengali  by  birth,  he 
had  the  adaptability  of  his  race  and  the  mar- 
velous gift  of  masking  secret  hatred  of  for- 
eigners with  an  affable  smile.  He  was  a  con- 
summate diplomat,  but  his  xenophobia,  dic- 
tated by  ardent  patriotism,  might  lead  to  ter- 
rible consequences.  He  would  not  admit  that 
a  nation  of  more  than  one  hundred  million 
souls  should  be  governed  by  fewer  than  a 
hundred  thousand  soldiers  and  functionaries 
from  the  Occident  who  had  never  demon- 
strated to  him  any  superiority  in  thought  or 
in  art.  Had  not  the  initial  domination  been 
the  work  of  merchants  and  navigators? 


PARVATI  109 

Dhanpat-Roy  could  not  be  convinced  that 
commercial  activity — in  which  the  Parsees  ex- 
celled— could  become  a  slow  but  sure  element 
of  conquest. 

He  had  done  everything  in  his  power  to  dis- 
suade Tikka  from  marrying  Parvati.  He  felt 
that  she  had  been  too  much  Europeanized 
to  preserve  real  Hindu  nationality,  despite  her 
illustrious  caste.  But  Bhagavat  had  disre- 
garded the  alarm  of  his  counselor.  His  mar- 
riage also  displeased  the  high  priest  of  the 
Brahmans,  Khoudarsha,  who  consequently  be- 
came the  natural  ally  of  the  dewan.  And 
the  maharaja,  old  and  failing,  did  not  dare 
oppose  his  son.  After  her  coronation  the 
maharanee  had  no  worse  enemies  than  these 
two  men.  They  were  biding  their  time,  skil- 
fully hiding  their  intentions  until  the  day 
should  come  to  strike  the  blow. 

Parvati  instinctively  sensed  the  double 
hatred.  And  to-night,  in  the  midst  of  the 
confusion,  she  met  looks  that  were  either  in- 
different or  hostile.  She  did  not  dare  to  ap- 
proach Gilbert,  the  only  soul  that  loved  her, 


no  PARVATI 

for  fear  she  would  show  only  too  clearly  what 
she  felt.  But  by  the  invisible  telepathy 
through  which  heart  speaks  to  heart,  she  felt 
his  sympathetic  presence.  They  did  not  need 
to  see  each  other  to  have  close  communion. 
They  were  bound  to  each  other  irrevocably 
even  by  the  danger  of  betraying  themselves. 

The  guests  were  moving  toward  a  hall  that 
had  been  draped  with  silken  hangings.  It 
had  been  decorated  with  arms  and  fitted  up 
as  a  dining-room  especially  for  the  occasion. 
Servants  were  moving  about  bearing  enor- 
mous platters  piled  high  with  rice.  Eath 
guest  had  a  shallow  bowl  at  his  left  hand,  for 
the  rice  was  meant  to  take  the  place  of  bread. 
An  endless  number  of  strange,  highly  seasoned 
dishes  were  served — dried  fish,  mutton  stew, 
roast  kid,  stuffed  woodcock,  wild-boar  steaks. 
With  meat  one  had  to  take  a  sauce,  usually 
containing  curry,  and  always  fiery.  There 
were  palm  cabbages,  shoots  of  young  bamboo, 
and,  finally,  heavy,  unappetizing  pastry. 
There  was  no  speech,  and  after  this  unusual 
and  exotic  feast  the  guests  were  invited  to  the 


PARVATI  in 

terrace,  where  they  sat  in  the  moonlight,  lis- 
tening to  the  plaintive  music  of  an  orchestra — 
violins,  flutes,  and  tam-tams — hidden  behind 
potted  palms.  A  concert  preceded  the  danc- 
ing. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  cordial,  my  dear?"  said 
the  baroness,  addressing  d'Alizay.  The  mar- 
quis, enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  from  his 
pipe,  had  just  begun  to  tell  about  a  lion-hunt. 
His  listeners  were  grouped  about  him,  the 
central  figure  being  that  indefatigable  hunter, 
the  Maharaja  of  Gwalior. 

"A  finger  of  Chartreuse,  if  you  please. 
There,  that 's  it!  A  thousand  thanks!" 

"And  you,  Desroches?"  She  put  the  lac- 
quer tray  down  and  approached  the  artist, 
who  was  standing  by  himself,  resting  his  el- 
bow on  a  railing  between  two  boxed  orange 
trees.  He  was  quietly  looking  at  the  play  of 
the  moonlight  on  the  lake  and  the  gardens  of 
Paradise.  "Very  melancholy  this  evening. 
Be  careful,  it  is  becoming  chronic!" 

Gilbert  turned. 

"Look,"  he  said  simply,  and,  stretching  out 


ii2  PARVATI 

his  arm,  he  pointed  to  the  enchanting  pano- 
rama. "No  palette  could  render  that  color," 
he  went  on.  "What  a  blend  of  gray,  deep 
blue,  purple  1  Ah !  the  painter  can  never  hope 
to  be  more  than  a  plagiarist  of  Nature,  the 
master!" 

But  she,  realizing  that  art,  the  rival  of 
woman,  was  stealing  him  away  from  her,  made 
herself  tempting,  desirable.  She  leaned  to- 
ward him,  for  she  knew  very  well  that  contact 
is  irresistible. 

He  felt  her  charm  and  smiled  with  pleas- 
ure. 

"How  do  I  look  this  evening?"  she  said,  in 
her  musical  voice. 

"Beautiful  as  Diana,  the  huntress  of  Fantin- 
Latour." 

She  smiled,  flattered  by  the  compliment. 

"And  yet,  though  you  are  sure  of  me,  you 
would  leave  me  for  another?  She  is  uncer- 
tain. Ah!  I  have  seen  it  all!  We  women 
possess  a  sixth  sense,  so  that  we  know  the  de- 
gree of  our  own  seductiveness." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


PARVATI  113 

"You  know  well  enough.  Don't  try  to  put 
me  off  the  track.  I  warn  you  the  adventure  is 
perilous.  Others — better  authorities  than  I 
— perhaps  have  told  you  the  same  thing. 
And  then,  what  is  the  good  of  letting  certainty 
slip  through  your  hands  for  the  sake  of  a 
shadow?" 

Gilbert  sighed  without  answering.  Odette 
had  reawakened  in  him  a  doubt  which  had 
often  made  him  despair,  a  bitter  uncertainty 
concerning  the  final  issue.  Would  it  not  be 
better,  after  all,  not  to  pursue  this  romance 
that  could  never  come  to  anything?  Parvati 
herself,  by  her  silence,  seemed  to  be  losing  in- 
terest in  his  love.  A  few  days  before,  at  the 
tennis-court,  he  had  with  difficulty  made  her 
promise  to  meet  him  somewhere,  but  as  yet  it 
had  resulted  in  nothing.  Perhaps  the  princess 
was  only  trying  to  vary  the  monotony  of  her 
solitude  with  a  flirtation.  She  who  was  with 
him  this  evening  in  the  magic  of  the  tropical 
moonlight  perhaps  was  the  real  sweetheart,  to 
whom  he  had  only  to  open  his  arms. 

For  a  time  they  listened  in  silence  to  the  bar- 


ii4  PARVATI 

baric  music.  They  could  hear  people  whis- 
pering around  them,  some  admiring  the  sur- 
prising beauty  of  the  decorations,  others  thrill- 
ing again  over  some  hunting-exploit. 

She  had  slipped  her  hand  into  his,  pru- 
dently drawing  her  silken  scarf  over  their 
arms. 

"Come,"  she  murmured,  "it  is  better  down 
there.  The  dancers  have  not  begun  yet." 

They  went  down  the  steps  and  seated  them- 
selves on  the  bench  under  a  yucca  tree  in  full 
bloom. 

"You  are  regal  to-night!"  remarked  Gilbert. 
"The  diamond  tiara  in  your  blond  hair — I 
have  never  seen  you  so  beautiful  as  now!" 

"Think  so?  The  Nawab  of  Dacca  told  me 
the  same  thing  a  while  ago.  Really,  those 
handsome  bronzed  princes  don't  mind  staring 
at  me!  But  there  is  only  one  man  I  care  to 
please.  It  is  for  you  alone  that  I  have  made 
myself  beautiful  this  evening." 

"You  are  exquisite!" 

He  kissed  her. 

"Oh!"     It  was  like  the  stifled  groan  of  a 


PARVATI  115 

strangling  child,  something  that  was  agonized 
but  at  the  same  time  suppressed. 

They  broke  away,  a  little  frightened.  But 
they  could  see  nothing — unless  it  was  a  fold  of 
blue  silk  that  disappeared  among  the  orange 
trees  on  the  deserted  terrace. 

Everybody  was  crowding  into  the  drawing- 
room  to  watch  the  two  dancers. 

"  Somebody  was  there,  and  saw  us,"  said 
Desroches. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  I  heard  a  little  cry.  And 
then  the  dress  disappearing." 

"Let  us  go  in  quickly,  through  different 
doors." 

They  separated  and  entered  the  drawing- 
rooms  from  opposite  sides,  one  a  few  minutes 
after  the  other. 

Soft  round  arms,  a  straight  body,  a  waist 
held  in  by  the  belt  of  a  shimmering  skirt; 
bare  feet  with  rings  on  the  toes — she  per- 
formed the  miracle  of  her  dance  in  the  vast 
corridor  filled  with  seated  spectators. 

Profullia — Flower-of-Joy^ — was  her  name. 


n6  PARVATI 

The  muffled  orchestra  accompanied  her 
dance  and  she  mimicked  and  sang,  consum- 
mate actress  that  she  was — amorous,  wanton, 
sorrowful,  ironical,  and  terrible.  Her  eyes, 
like  two  jewels  set  in  jet,  looked  out  through 
eyelashes  dark  with  charcoal.  Changing 
lights,  unknown  shadows,  and  dark  magnet- 
ism played  there.  Her  movements  were  ca- 
denced,  harmonious,  plastic.  She  was  like  an 
ebony  statue  suddenly  animated  by  the  breath 
of  divinity,  and  her  ephemeral  function 
seemed  to  be  to  reduce  an  imaginary  enemy  to 
submission. 

And  this  enemy,  according  to  the  traditions 
of  Hindu  dancing,  she  had  chosen  at  random 
from  the  audience.  It  was  Gilbert,  who  had 
slipped  into  the  first  row  so  as  not  to  lose  any 
of  this  ballet,  she  had  chosen  as  her  mute  part- 
ner. The  painter  knew  the  game  and  he 
smiled,  amused  and  flattered  that  she  chose 
him. 

The  theme  of  the  dance  was  borrowed  from 
the  loves  of  the  fickle  Krishna,  the  human 
incarnation  of  the  god  Vishnu — bucolic,  lib- 


PARVATI  117 

ertine,  and  of  Sanskrit  descent.  The  danc- 
ing-girl sang  and  declaimed  the  text  of  a  pass- 
age of  the  Puranas.  She  told  of  the  treachery 
of  the  god,  how  he  had  abandoned  his  wife, 
the  goddess  Radha,  to  fly  to  the  arms  of  the 
nymph  Viraja,  tormented  with  love. 

And  living  the  poem  intensely,  the  dancer 
twisted  her  arms  with  their  bracelets  of  gold, 
clutched  her  round,  firm  throat  with  both 
hands  until  it  seemed  she  must  wound  herself 
with  her  own  finger-nails.  Flower-of-Joy 
poured  reproaches,  superb  indignation,  and 
scorn  upon  Gilbert,  penetrating  him  with  an- 
gry and  fascinating  glances. 

Now  she  flung  at  him  the  final  virulent  fare- 
well, bidding  the  god  to  descend  from 
heavenly  heights  to  the  earth  to  live  a  human 
life. 

The  supple  body  spiraled  toward  the 
ground,  then  rose  and  remained  motionless. 
The  head,  helmeted  and  jeweled,  turned 
slowly  from  right  to  left,  signifying  impossi- 
bility of  pardon,  irreparable  outrage.  The 
outstretched  palms  simulated  repulsion,  dis- 


ii8  PARVATI 

gust  that  was  deepened  by  the  scorn  on  the 
lips. 

The  acting  was  so  eloquent  that  Gilbert, 
without  grasping  the  meaning  of  the  words, 
was  embarrassed.  He  withdrew  a  little,  de- 
siring to  escape  the  hypnotism  of  the  dancer 
and  the  ridicule  brought  upon  him  by  her  in- 
vectives. 

He  sought  Parvati's  eyes. 

She  was  seated  at  the  right  of  the  maharaja 
and  was  following  every  movement  of  the 
dancer.  Desroches  was  struck  with  her  pal- 
lor. When  the  frantic  applause  followed  the 
ending  of  the  pantomime,  he  saw  the  queen 
whisper  in  her  husband's  ear.  Then  she  rose 
and  went  away,  accompanied  by  her  chape- 
ron. Gilbert  was  troubled. 

"Do  you  suppose  she  is  ill?"  he  murmured 
to  Verdier. 

"Bah!"  replied  the  philosopher.  "Prob- 
ably she  feels  faint:  it  is  hot  as  an  oven  in 
here." 

Flower-of-Joy  reappeared,  her  forehead 
moist  with  perspiration.  She  gave  a  tired  lit- 


PARVATI  119 

tie  smile,  happy  over  her  triumph,  and  ac- 
knowledged the  cheers  of  the  crowd  with 
modest  little  bows  a  I'hindoue,  while  she  hid 
her  face  with  her  jeweled  hands.  The  inter- 
mission was  to  be  followed  with  more  dancing. 

"Let  us  go  out,"  said  the  painter.  "I  am 
stifled,  too." 

The  two  friends  drank  in  the  cool  air  of  the 
night.  It  whipped  their  faces  deliciously. 
Gilbert  lit  a  cigar,  and  Noel,  who  was  not 
guilty  of  even  this  vice,  was  content  to  follow 
his  friend  toward  the  lake,  where  the  illumi- 
nated arches  and  garlands  were  reflected. 
They  walked  in  silence  along  an  alley  bor- 
dered with  soft  foliage,  above  which  vampires 
whirled  in  slow  and  heavy  flight.  Gilbert 
was  worried. 

Was  it  really  because  of  indisposition  that 
Parvati  had  withdrawn?  Vague  remorse 
haunted  him  without  his  knowing  why. 

"Shall  we  go  back?"  asked  Noel.  "It  is 
time;  I  hear  the  gong.  Come  and  see  Nour- 
Djahane,  the  Lady-of-Light,  in  her  peacock 
dance." 


120  PARVATI 

"Go  if  you  like.  I  'd  rather  finish  my 
cigar." 

"You  don't  care  to  see  the  other  dances?" 

"One  is  enough.  Being  her  unwilling  part- 
ner has  unnerved  me.  Go  along,  and  don't  be 
anxious  about  me.  I  want  to  be  alone." 

The  theosophist  hesitated.  He  did  not 
wish  to  leave  the  friend  whose  sudden  melan- 
choly troubled  him.  And  yet  he  wished  to  see 
the  famous  dancer  interpreting  a  fragment  of 
Sanskrit  poetry.  Desroches  saw  this  and  had 
no  difficulty  in  overcoming  the  indecision  of 
his  companion. 

"When  the  dance  is  over,  Verdier,  you  will 
find  me  here,  unless  the  sacred  crocodiles  leave 
nothing  of  me  except  the  end  of  my  cigar." 

Gilbert  watched  Noel  go.  He  felt  affec- 
tionate appreciation  for  solicitude  that  was  al- 
most maternal.  There  was  at  least  one  who 
loved  him  for  pure  friendship.  He  strolled 
toward  the  stone  steps  that  led  down  to  the 
limpid  water.  From  time  to  time  a  long 
hideous  greenish  nose  disturbed  the  surface 
of  the  pond  and  then  disappeared  with  a  sinis- 


PARVATI  121 

ter  snapping  of  jaws.  The  crocodiles  were 
scenting  their  prey.  Desroches  could  not 
help  shivering  a  little.  A  false  step  could 
make  him  slip  down  among  the  monsters. 
Instinctively  he  withdrew  toward  the  lawn. 
As  he  reached  the  top  step  he  stifled  a  cry.  A 
few  paces  away  a  man  appeared.  It  was  a 
half-naked  Hindu,  frightfully  thin.  Gil- 
bert's hand  felt  for  the  revolver  in  his  pocket. 
The  unknown  man  did  not  move.  He  held 
out  a  letter  and  mysteriously  lifted  a  finger  to 
his  lips. 

Gilbert  tore  open  the  envelop  and,  seeking 
a  spot  of  bright  moonlight,  read  these  simple 
words  written  in  French: 

This  evening,  at  midnight,  at  the  Astronomical  Observ- 
atory of  Jay  Singh  in  the  Pavilion  of  the  Stars. 
Come ! 

When  he  turned  around  again  the  messen- 
ger had  disappeared. 


IX 

Anitra!  True  Daughter  of  Eve!  I  yield  to  your 
magnetic  charm.  For  after  all,  I  am  a  man;  .  .  .  "The 
eternal  feminine  draws  me." 

—IBSEN:  "Peer  Gynt."    Act  IV. 

IT  was  the  folly  of  a  raja  to  build  this  ob- 
servatory in  the  eighteenth  century.  Jay 
Singh — astronomer,  prince,  and  founder  of 
Jeypore — had  studied  in  the  books  of  Europe 
the  norms  of  cosmography,  the  theorem  of  ce- 
lestial triangulation,  and  the  principal  hy- 
potheses concerning  falling  stars.  As  a  states- 
man, he  had  created  and  maintained  an 
era  of  prosperity  in  his  kingdom.  But  he  was 
a  thinker,  too.  For  recreation  he  turned  to 
mathematical  analysis.  His  dream  had  been 
to  observe  for  himself,  in  India,  the  phenom- 
ena of  the  planetary  system.  This  dream 
had  been  realized  through  the  happy  coinci- 
dence of  his  immense  riches  and  the  arrival 
in  the  country  of  a  famous  English  architect. 

122 


PARVATI  123 

The  latter  had  no  trouble  in  demonstrating  to 
the  monarch  the  possibility  of  constructing  in 
this  corner  of  the  park  a  building  suitable  to 
be  used  as  an  observatory.  The  maharaja  had 
himself  drawn  the  plan  of  the  foundation. 

Jay  Singh  was  dead.  Others  had  succeeded 
him,  but  none  of  these  warlike  or  indolent 
potentates  had  dreamed  of  demolishing  the 
buildings  created  to  please  the  fancy  of 
their  ancestor.  Everything  had  remained  as 
he  left  it.  Nobody  frequented  this  solitary 
spot.  The  memory  of  the  great  king  reigned 
here.  It  seemed  to  preserve  the  structure 
from  the  hand  of  time  and  humanity. 

The  sound  of  a  step  was  heard  in  the  alley 
that  joined  the  gardens  to  the  astronomer's 
buildings.  A  shadow  slipped  along  among 
the  hawthorn  toward  the  Pavilion  of  the  Stars. 
At  a  gentle  push  from  the  outside,  the  door 
opened.  It  was  as  though  everything  were 
ready  for  the  nocturnal  visit  of  some  one  who 
was  expected. 

Gilbert  stopped  at  the  door  for  a  few  min- 
utes, to  listen.  Nobody  had  followed  him. 


124  PARVATI 

He  sighed  with  satisfaction.  It  had  not  been 
easy  for  him  to  give  the  slip  to  his  friends  who 
wanted  him  to  go  with  them  to  the  lawn 
to  watch  the  fireworks.  He  had  pleaded 
fatigue,  and  declared  he  was  going  home  to 
bed  and  would  not  stay  for  the  supper  that 
would  follow  the  fireworks.  The  maharaja 
was  taken  up  with  his  guests  and  superintend- 
ing the  exhibition. 

As  a  matter  of  precaution,  Desroches  had 
buttoned  up  his  coat  and  turned  the  collar  up 
about  his  throat.  He  took  from  his  pocket  the 
scrap  of  paper  containing  the  precious  words. 
He  had  not  thought  of  questioning  their  origin 
and  the  possibility  that  a  trap  had  been  laid. 
And  then,  there  was  no  signature !  He  could 
have  covered  everything  by  saying  the  meet- 
ing was  with  the  baroness.  He  reread  it. 
The  writing  was  a  little  shaky,  indicating 
nervousness  in  the  one  who  had  penned  it. 
So  Parvati  had  made  a  decision!  She  had 
been  able  to  elude  surveillance,  to  escape  from 
her  prison  in  spite  of  spies.  In  a  few  seconds, 
perhaps,  she  would  be  there  and  he  could  tell 


PARVATI  125 

her  all  his  love,  all  the  bitterness  he  had  ex- 
perienced before  the  unforgetable  minute  that 
brought  him  to  her  and  they  could  be  all 
alone.  A  mad  hope  filled  him,  making  the 
blood  beat  in  his  temples. 

Sand  thrown  gently  against  the  window- 
pane  woke  him  from  his  reverie.  In  the 
shadow  of  the  alley  a  man  beckoned  to  him. 
He  recognized  the  skeleton  Hindu  who  had 
delivered  the  message.  The  man  seemed  to  be 
inviting  him  to  follow. 

"Something  has  happened  to  prevent  her," 
he  thought  as  he  joined  the  guide. 

He  wrinkled  his  brow.  Probably  Parvati 
had  changed  her  mind;  and  this  man  was 
charged  with  notifying  him  orally,  or  by  a  sec- 
ond letter,  of  the  sudden  impossibility  of  her 
carrying  out  her  promise.  The  danger  to 
which  the  queen  was  exposing  herself  was 
great.  He  remembered  the  horrible  legend 
of  the  zenana — the  cemented  bath  become  the 
sepulcher  of  the  adulteress. 

But  the  unknown  man  beckoned  again  for 
him  to  follow,  always  keeping  a  finger  to  his 


i26  PARVATI 

lips.  Gilbert  determined  to  follow  him  with- 
out asking  for  explanations.  They  moved  to- 
ward the  Jaya  Prakash  Yantra,  which  the 
royal  astronomer  had  hollowed  with  winding 
caves  underground. 

"Why  don't  you  go  down?"  whispered  Gil- 
bert, in  English. 

The  man  recoiled  in  fear.  He  knelt, 
touched  the  ground  with  the  palms  of  his 
hands,  and  mumbled  confused  sentences. 
From  the  gestures  Desroches  guessed  that  the 
poor  creature  belonged  to  a  low  caste,  and 
that  for  him  to  breathe  the  same  air  with  the 
maharanee,  who  was  of  divine  descent,  was 
abominable  sacrilege.  Desroches  shrugged 
his  shoulders  with  pity  for  the  poor  devil,  and 
resolutely  walked  down  the  steps. 

In  the  uncertain  light  of  the  moon  he  made 
out  the  forms  of  two  women  crouching  at  the 
bottom  of  the  cave.  One  of  them  came  to- 
ward him  with  her  hand  extended  to  greet 
him. 

It  was  Parvati.  But  with  her  was  a  woman 
whom  he  did  not  know. 


PAR  VAT  I  127 

Gilbert  could  not  hide  from  the  princess 
an  involuntary  expression  of  surprise. 

"It  is  Madavi,  my  nurse,"  she  said.  "She 
has  been  with  me  since  I  was  very  little.  To- 
day, at  a  sign  from  me,  she  would  throw  her- 
self to  the  crocodiles  or  kill  her  two  daugh- 
ters. Is  n't  that  true,  Madavi?" 

The  old  Hindu  prostrated  herself-  before 
her  idol. 

"You  know  it  is  true,  Maharanee.  I  am 
your  mother  and  your  slave.  Do  with  me  as 
you  wish." 

But  the  queen  had  raised  her  from  the 
ground. 

"Go,  nurse."  Parvati  spoke  lovingly. 
"Guard  the  approach  from  the  Elysium;  and 
tell  Kousha  to  do  the  same  from  the  lake. 
Remember  the  signal — the  call  of  the  owl, 
repeated  three  times." 

The  woman  climbed  the  steps  and  disap- 
peared. 

Gilbert  caught  Parvati's  hands  and  pressed 
them  feverishly  in  his  own. 

"I  bless  you!"  he  murmured.     "You  are 


i28  PARVATI 

good.  You  understood  my  agony.  This 
meeting — I  could  not  have  waited  longer!" 

But  she  was  pale,  cold,  distant,  and  did  not 
return  his  caresses. 

"Sit  down,  Gilbert.  I  made  you  come  here 
because  there  are  things  I  must  say  to  you. 
You  know  it  is  my  honor,  my  life,  that  I  risk 
at  this  moment  It  is  our  first  meeting  alone. 
I  must  tell  you,  it  will  be  our  last.  We  can 
never  see  each  other  again!" 

The  look  of  a  wounded  animal  passed  over 
Gilbert's  face. 

"You  have  chosen  the  moment  when  you 
were  to  give  me  the  illusion  of  happiness  to 
tell  me  of  your  cruel  decision?  Ah!  it  is  not 
hard  to  understand  that  you  do  not  love  me, 
that  you  have  never  loved  me!" 

"And  your  gratitude!"  she  answered,  and 
her  voice  was  bitter.  "Shall  I  tell  you  how 
you  have  recompensed  me  for  having  tried  the 
impossible  for  your  sake?  For  you — for  the 
man  who  has  poured  into  my  ears  lying  words, 
who,  to  pass  his  time,  to  please  his  fancy,  has 
played  with  me  the  comedy  of  love!" 


PARVATI  129 

"Parvati!" 

"You  cannot  deny  it.  I  was  there,  not 
many  hours  ago.  On  the  terrace — I  saw.  I 
heard  the  kiss.  Oh !  the  horror  of  it!"  A  sob 
choked  her.  Then,  tense  and  hostile,  she  went 
on.  "What  evil  spirit  possessed  you?  What 
wrong  had  I  done  you?  I  was  alone,  sad.  I 
lived  with  the  sorrow  of  the  life  I  had  given, 
of  my  lost  youth.  And  then  you  came,  the 
seducer,  the  enemy!  You  knew  how  to  con- 
quer me  slowly  but  wholly!  It  was  only  a 
wager.  You  loved  some  one  else.  Perhaps 
it  was  a  wager  with  her,  that  you  might  laugh 
together.  Oh,  Gilbert!  I  believed  in  a  feel- 
ing that  you  did  not  have  for  me!" 

Tears  ran  down  her  proud  face,  and  fell 
warm  on  Desroches's  hands.  She  had  tried 
till  now  to  hold  back  the  bitterness  that  she 
felt.  But  she  could  not.  She  was  a  woman 
in  love,  overcome  with  anger,  rancor,  and  de- 
spair. Jealousy  had  blotted  out  hope.  Feel- 
ing that  she  had  nothing  more  to  lose,  she 
sobbed  the  confession  of  her  beautiful  vain 
dream. 


130  PARVATI 

"Listen  to  me!"  said  Gilbert.  "You  must 
hear  what  I  say!  It  is  you  I  love.  The  other 
is  nothing  to  me.  I  amused  myself  with  her 
long  before  I  saw  you.  And  these  days  when 
she  has  seen  me  listless  and  sad  because  I  was 
without  hope,  she  has  tried  to  bring  me  back 
to  her.  Ah,  Parvati,  I  did  not  guess!  I 
thought  you  were  trifling  with  me.  I 
doubted.  And  you  loved  me  I  You  loved 
me!  The  sweetness  of  what  you  have  told 
me!  I  can  never  describe  to  you  what  your 
confession  has  meant  to  me.  Now  that  I 
know,  I  am  indifferent  to  everything  else. 
Death  itself  would  be  joy  if  it  would  take  you 
with  me!" 

Parvati  interrupted  him.  She  was  un- 
moved by  what  he  said. 

"Words!  words!  Can  you  blot  out  that 
kiss?  No,  no!  you  do  not  love  me!" 

"But  you,  you  avoided  me.  My  longing 
for  you  became  anguish.  Do  you  not  see  now 
that  you  cannot  escape  your  destiny — that 
what  must  be,  is?  This  hour  had  to  be;  the 
confession  of  our  passion  makes  us  see  that  we 


PARVATI  131 

cannot  fight  against  fate.  Come,  I  want  to 
dry  your  tears  with  my  kisses,  little  queen  of 
my  being,  of  my  soul!" 

He  pressed  her  to  him.  He  could  hear  her 
heart  beating  against  his.  She  was  breathing 
rapidly  as  he  slowly  kissed  lips  given  will- 
ingly. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  possession,  the 
haunting  superterrestrial  relationship  that  she 
had  never  had  with  her  husband.  And  now, 
perhaps,  her  lover  would  reveal  it  to  her. 

Clouds  coming  from  the  western  sky  veiled 
the  moon. 

A  multicolored  Roman  candle  flashed 
across  the  dark,  followed  almost  immediately 
by  thundering  applause.  The  Rajput  people 
are  grown-up  children.  They  clapped  their 
hands  and  shouted  with  joy  over  the  fireworks. 
Next  year  devastating  famine  might  strangle 
them,  but  to-night  all  was  happy. 

A  little  red  star  could  be  seen  through  the 
opening  of  the  vault  above  them.  For  a  few 
seconds  it  twinkled  in  its  place  in  the  artificial 
constellation  that  grew  dim  and  died. 


132  PARVATI 

"Our  lives  are  like  that,"  murmured  Gil- 
bert. "Love  alone  gives  meaning  to  our  little 
span  and  makes  us  equal  to  the  gods.  You 
are  the  star  of  my  sky!" 

"The  star  is  red!"  she  sighed,  with  sudden 
trouble. 

To  dispel  the  cloud  of  superstition,  the 
painter  went  on  gaily: 

"You  have  not  told  me,  dear,  by  what 
miracle  of  diplomacy  you  escaped  from  your 
chaperon.  Do  you  know  this  meeting  in  the 
moonlight  is  worthy  of  Byron?  And  your 
fakir!" 

"Poor  Kousha!"  replied  Parvati,  smiling. 
"You  flatter  him,  my  friend.  Fakir!  Prob- 
ably because  he  is  so  pitifully  thin,  you  fancy 
he  has  magic  powers.  You  are  mistaken;  he 
belongs  to  the  sect  called  'The  Stranglers  of 
Nerbudda.'  He  is  of  the  paraiyan — pariahs, 
you  call  them.  His  work  is  to  feed  the  croco- 
diles and  turtles  in  the  pond  every  morning." 

"What  is  his  past?" 

"Very  romantic.  I  saved  him  one  day  from 
some  fanatics  who  were  going  to  stone  him. 


PARVATI  133 

The  poor  fellow  had  dared  to  drink  from  the 
cup  of  a  Brahman.  He  was  nearly  dying  with 
thirst.  I  had  pity  on  him  and  ordered  them 
to  stop.  Since  then  he  has  been  my  slave. 
But  I  have  to  avoid  him  as  much  as  possible. 
You  know,  according  to  our  religion,  the 
pariah  does  not  escape  condemnation  even 
when  he  is  dead.  His  life  is  reincarnated  in  a 
lower  animal.  That  is  why  Madavi  says  I  de- 
base myself  by  speaking  to  him.  I  don't 
knew  whether  I  think  she  is  right  or  not.  I 
never  call  upon  him  excepting  upon  some  rare 
occasion — like  to-night,  for  instance." 

"And  the  woman?" 

"A  daughter  of  the  Kshatriyas.  She  is  al- 
most noble,  for  her  ancestors  were  warriors. 
She  was  my  wet-nurse.  Poor  woman!  Her 
husband  went  crazy  after  a  sunstroke :  he  had 
to  be  shut  up.  She  had  two  sons.  The  elder 
died  of  the  plague  in  Guzerat,  and  the  second 
one  was  devoured  by  a  tiger  last  year  during  a 
hunt  in  Gwalior.  She  rarely  sees  her  mar- 
ried daughter.  The  younger  one,  her  favo- 
rite, is  a  dancer  at  Jabalpur." 


i34  PARVATI 

And  the  princess  added,  in  a  melting  voice 
full  of  emotion : 

"Dear,  good  Madavi!  It  is  thanks  to  her 
that  I  was  able  to  get  away  from  the  zenana 
this  evening,  after  I  dismissed  Miss  Brown. 
That  Englishwoman  was  dying  to  see  the  fire- 
works. Happily,  my  nurse  has  a  key  to  the 
gardens.  When  we  were  sure  that  nobody  in 
the  harem  was  spying  upon  us,  we  were  able 
to  come  here.  We  are  safer  in  this  cave  than 
in  the  Pavilion  of  the  Stars,  where  I  told  you 
to  go  first." 

"My  darling!  To  think  of  your  risking  so 
much  for  me!  I  hope  I — " 

"Hush!  listen!  Hooting,  three  times!  I 
am  lost!" 

She  clutched  his  hand  nervously.  The 
sinister  warning  sounded  again,  three  times. 
They  kept  quiet,  holding  their  breath. 

Voices  were  approaching.  Steps  were 
heard  in  the  alley;  conversation,  in  English. 

"Yes,"  said  one,  "the  whole  thing  needs 
renovation.  His  Highness  has  given  orders  to 
an  architect  in  Bombay.  I  persuaded  the 


PARVATI  135 

Council  of  Ministers  to  approve  the  project. 
They  signed  an  order  authorizing  us  to  pay 
for  it  out  of  the  state  budget." 

Parvati  trembled.  She  thought  she  would 
faint.  She  had  recognized  the  voice  of  the 
dewan,  Dhanpat-Roy,  who,  with  the  high 
priest  Khoudarsha,  had  always  hated  her. 
Mechanically  Gilbert  reached  into  his  pocket 
for  his  revolver. 

"And  in  here,"  said  a  second  voice,  (it  was 
the  Governor  of  the  District  of  Ajmir),  "are 
not  these  the  caves  of  Jay  Singh?" 

"Does  your  Excellency  wish  to  see  them?" 

"Willingly.  But  it  is  dark.  I  am  afraid 
of  spoiling  the  embroidery  of  my  robes. 
Court  dress  is  deucedly  inconvenient." 

"Let  me  go  in  first.  Has  your  Excellency 
a  box  of  matches,  by  any  chance?" 

"No,  but  if  the  light  of  my  cigar — " 

"Let  us  go  and  get  a  light." 

They  withdrew.  The  maharanee  breathed 
freely  again,  but  the  danger  was  none  the  less 
imminent  They  were  sure  to  come  back. 

"Not  a  minute  to  lose,"  whispered 


136  PARVATI 

roches  to  the  princess,  taking  her  hand  to 
help  her  out  of  the  cave.  "We  can  go  to 
the  Kotori  Pavilion.  There  we  shall  have 
nothing  to  fear.  It  is  hardly  likely  they  will 
come  there.  The  supper  will  soon  be  served." 

"I  am  afraid,"  stammered  Parvati. 

"Courage,  little  one !     This  will  save  us." 

The  short  barrel  of  his  revolver  shone  in  his 
hands.  They  hurried.  When  they  reached 
the  pavilion,  they  saw  through  the  open  door 
that  the  dewan  and  the  English  functionary 
were  entering  the  caves.  They  were  lighting 
the  way  with  wax  matches. 

Gilbert  feverishly  gripped  the  queen's  arm. 

"Come,"  he  said,  shutting  the  door.  "We 
shall  be  safer  at  the  back  of  the  building. 
The  moon  is  coming  out  of  the  cloud.  They 
might  see  us  through  a  crack  of  the  door." 

"No,  nol"  she  cried.  "Not  this  way!  I 
don't  dare,  I  ought  not — 1" 

"You  must." 

"Gilbert,  please!" 

And  he  dragged  her  along  brutally,  like  a 
victim  to  an  altar.  His  desire  irritated  him. 


PARVATI  137 

With  possible  death  so  near,  a  secret,  morbid 
joy  urged  him  on. 

She  yielded. 

And  there,  upon  the  sofa  where  they  fell 
panting  for  breath,  they  listened  to  receding 
steps.  They  saw  tiny  lights  glimmer  and  dis- 
appear. 

They  were  safe.  They  smiled  at  each 
other.  Gilbert  drew  Parvati  to  his  breast. 
His  tender  caresses  thrilled  her.  A  delirious 
kiss  brought  their  lips  together.  And,  with  a 
sigh,  she  yielded. 


X 

'A  bird  of  prey,  perhaps, 

That  lights  joyously 

Upon  the  hair  of  the  patient  martyr, 

With  a  mad  laugh — 

The  laugh  of  a  bird  of  prey ! 

— NIETZSCHE:  Ecco  Homo. 

THE  moon  was  shining  again,  but  now 
her  light  was  pale.  Wisps  of  fog 
floated  close  to  the  earth.  Upon  the  grass  lay 
dewdrops.  Silence  everywhere,  for  dawn 
was  near. 

"We  must  go  now,  Maharanee,"  said  the 
grave  voice  of  Madavi.  She  half  opened  the 
door.  "Supper  is  nearly  over.  Some  people 
have  already  gone  to  the  Guest  House." 

"Already  1"  sighed  the  painter.  He  gazed 
at  Parvati  with  a  long  smile. 

Instinctively,  when  she  saw  her  nurse,  Par- 
vati slipped  her  veil  over  her  face.  So  this 
was  love! — the  love  that  is  sung  by  poets,  the 
love  described  in  novels  that  she  had  read, 

138 


PARVATI  139 

the  love  that  is  a  god,  the  love  that  is  a  king, 
Shiva  the  Destroyer,  of  old  Hindu  legends,  to 
whom  her  coreligionists  had  put  up  imposing 
temples,  whom  the  Brahmans  worshiped  in 
their  prayers.  Ah !  now  let  them  come  to  take 
her,  bury  her  alive  like  poor  Sita !  She  would 
die  happy.  She  knew  now  what  it  was — 
Love!  But  the  nurse  was  getting  impatient. 
She  stood  there  in  the  alley  at  a  disdainful  dis- 
tance from  Kousha.  The  pariah  was  beckon- 
ing to  the  queen  to  come. 

"Gilbert!     Good-byl" 

"Not  yet!"  he  begged.  "I  don't  want  you 
to  leave  me  like  this.  Ah!  think  of  imprison- 
ing such  beauty,  such  youth !" 

"Be  more  hopeful,  my  dear.  I  go  back  to 
the  Elysium  transformed,  ready  for  struggle, 
for  death!" 

"I  love  you!" 

"You  shall  free  me,  so  that  I  can  be  yours 
again.  Your  love  will  show  you  a  way  to 
take  me  out  of  their  hands.  When  the  time 
comes,  you  shall  tell  me  the  day  and  the  hour. 
I  will  follow  youl" 


i4o  PARVATI 

Again  they  kissed  each  other.  And  this 
time  Parvati  clung  to  him  feverishly. 

"Now  I  must  leave  you,"  she  whispered. 
"Let  me  go." 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

"To-morrow,  if  possible.  You  shall  know 
through  Madavi  or  the  pariah." 

She  waved  her  scarf  to  him  in  farewell. 
Then  the  two  women,  preceded  by  the  Hindu, 
disappeared  among  the  branches  of  young 
bamboo  trees,  in  the  direction  of  the  Elysium 
Palace. 

A  porcupine  frightened  them  for  a  second, 
and  they  laughed  at  it.  No  other  incident  dis- 
turbed them  as  they  made  their  way  to  the 
lower  door  of  the  zenana.  When  the  two 
women  reached  their  destination,  Parvati  in- 
voluntarily lifted  her  hand  to  her  breast  as  if 
to  touch  something. 

"Nurse!"  she  murmured.  Her  face  was 
white. 

"What  is  it?" 

"My  beryl  brooch!  It's  lost!  Heavens! 
— if  some  one  finds  it  in  the  pavilion  1" 


PARVATI  141 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  my  child.  I  am  here. 
I  shall  look  for  it." 

Noel  Verdier  had  taken  the  arm  of  the  mar- 
quis. Behind  them,  the  Mesnil-Guibert  fam- 
ily were  saying  good-night  to  the  Sejournes. 
Three  days  of  festivities  in  the  tropics  had  be- 
gun to  show  in  their  faces ;  they  no  longer  had 
the  enthusiasm  for  overdoing  things  which 
they  had  inherited  with  their  position  as 
Parisians. 

"It  was  a  debauch,"  laughed  the  theoso- 
phist,  "a  real  orgy!  Just  think  of  me,  d'Ali- 
zay,  an  Indian  scholar  like  myself,  an  auditor 
of  the  College  of  France,  going  to  bed  at  three 
o'clock  after  a  Sardanapalus  dinner!  Gilbert 
sets  us  an  example  of  wisdom." 

"Hum !  hum !"  The  marquis  was  skeptical. 
"Are  you  sure  that  he  is  sleeping  at  this  mo- 
ment, like  the  good  boy  you  think  he  is?  I 
am  rather  inclined  to  think  that  he  sang  us 
that  proper  little  verse  from  the  Fille  de  I' Air 
as  an  excuse  to  meet  some  little  aborigine  con- 
quest of  his." 


142  PARVATI 

"You  slander  him.  And  what  is  more  I 
wish  what  you  say  were  true.  For  I  found 
him  this  evening  a  romantic  Gilbert,  a  melan- 
choly Gilbert,  a  new  Gilbert  whom  I  did  not 
know  and  who  troubles  me." 

"Oh,  it 's  nothing  but  some  disappointment 
in  love!  Try  to  make  him  leave  with  you  to- 
morrow for  Agra  and  Benares.  That  will 
make  him  forget.  The  portrait  is  finished. 
There  is  no  reason  for  him  to  stay  here  any 
longer.  India  is  big." 

Verdier  diplomatically  ignored  the  sugges- 
tion. He  did  not  fancy  becoming  a  third 
member  of  the  "Gustave-Adolphe  partner- 
ship." Although  he  liked  the  marquis  for 
his  frankness,  his  chivalrous  air,  and  his  pas- 
sion for  parade  and  adventure,  Verdier  had  his 
own  ideas  about  traveling.  Gilbert,  as  a  zeal- 
ous artist,  could  adjust  himself  to  delays.  The 
deciphering  of  inscriptions  and  hieroglyphics 
often  detained  the  scholar.  There  was  always 
a  sketch-book  in  Gilbert's  pocket.  He  put  in 
time  sketching  bits  of  landscape,  monuments, 
and  native  types.  Tourists  and  globe-trotters, 


PARVATI  143 

men  of  the  world,  would  have  allowed  Noel 
his  snail's  pace  with  very  bad  grace. 

They  had  reached  the  Persian  kiosk  where 
the  two  gay  inseparables  had  chosen  to  live 
with  the  Countess  Jehanne.  The  weariness 
that  comes  with  late  hours  showed  in  the  eyes 
of  the  scholar. 

"The  sandman!"  he  thought.  "Am  I  that, 
too?  How  shocking!" 

A  round  form  wrapped  in  gray  plaid,  re- 
clining in  the  shadow  of  the  porch,  moved 
at  the  approaching  footsteps.  The  servant 
showed  his  black  face. 

"It 's  I,  Zahour." 

"Good  evening,  Sahib.  Shall  I  wait  for 
the  other  gentleman?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  other?"  cried 
Noel,  amazed.  "Isn't  Gilbert  back?" 

"No,  Sahib." 

"It  is  n't  possible!  You  are  still  dreaming, 
my  boy.  He  left  me  at  eleven  o'clck.  He 
came  in  without  your  hearing  him.  You  must 
have  been  asleep." 

"No    servant    sleeps    more    lightly    than 


144  PARVATI 

Zahour  Mahomed,"  answered  the  native,  in  an 
injured  voice.  "He  hears  the  very  rustle  of 
the  naja  on  the  sand." 

Verdier  did  not  wait  to  listen  to  the  Ori- 
ental's boasts.  In  a  bound  he  reached  his 
friend's  room.  All  was  quiet  and  deserted 
there;  the  bed  had  not  been  touched.  A  feel- 
ing of  anxiety  came  over  the  philosopher,  and 
a  suspicion  flashed  through  his  brain.  Sup- 
pose that  the  marquis  had  been  right — that 
Gilbert  had  not  returned  to  the  house  that 
night?  His  prolonged  absence  was  inex- 
plicable and  disquieting.  Verdier  felt  in- 
stinctively that  this  was  not  an  ordinary  ad- 
venture: he  remembered  how  suddenly  the 
maharanee  had  gone  out  after  the  first  native 
dance  and  Desroches's  determination  not  to 
remain  for  the  second  one.  Then  the  pretext 
of  being  tired,  when  the  painter  had  excused 
himself  from  the  fireworks  and  the  supper. 
There  was  a  connection  between  these  two 
things,  a  semblance  of  coincidence  that  re- 
quired further  reflection.  Gilbert  had  lied, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it;  he  had  invented 


PARVATI  145 

the  story  to  get  away.  And  now,  perhaps,  his 
folly  had  cost  him  his  life. 

Noel  felt  that  something  was  wrong.  And, 
trying  to  forget  the,  anxiety  that  filled  him,  he 
went  unhesitatingly  to  look  for  his  friend. 

Having  ordered  the  servant  to  wait  for  him 
and  not  to  leave  his  post  before  his  return, 
Verdier  hurried  along  the  Guest  House  road 
to  the  palace.  There  were  still  a  few  lights  in 
the  windows.  He  had  brought  with  him  a 
little  electric  light  Instinctively  he  took  the 
path  to  the  lake.  At  the  thought  that  the 
artist  might  have  slipped,  or  been  thrown,  into 
the  muddy  waters,  he  shuddered.  The  croco- 
diles would  not  give  back  the  body.  He 
closed  his  eyes  to  escape  the  horrible  vision. 
No,  no!  This  could  not  be  the  explanation. 
He  would  meet  le  petit  at  the  turn  of  the 
alley,  he  would  scold  him  severely  for  his 
foolish  escapade,  and  then  he  would  throw 
himself  into  Gilbert's  arms. 

A  shadow  moved  near  the  cinnamon-tree 
pavilion.  He  rushed  up  to  it. 

"Gilbert!"  he  cried.     "You,  at  last!    What 


146  PARVATI 

a  fright  you  gave  me!"  But  he  stopped  sud- 
denly. In  the  light  of  his  lamp  he  had  seen 
the  turban  of  Dhanpat-Roy. 

"Are  you  looking  for  Monsieur  Des- 
roches?"  the  dewan  asked,  good-naturedly. 
"But  he  must  surely  have  returned  at  this 
hour:  it  seems  to  me  that  he  left  us  after  the 
first  nautch" 

"Unfortunately  not,  your  Excellency.  Par- 
don me,  I  took  you  for  him ;  you  have  the  same 
figure  and  walk.  I  have  just  come  from  the 
bungalow.  He  was  n't  there.  I  cannot  un- 
derstand." 

"He  has  perhaps  fallen  asleep  on  a  bench. 
Would  you  like  me  to  look  with  you?" 

Verdier  accepted  ^  the  minister's  offer. 
They  decided  to  go  in  different  ways — the 
dewan  in  the  direction  of  the  observatory  and 
the  Elysium;  Noel,  toward  the  palace  and  the 
pond. 

"The  minister  may  be  right,"  thought 
Noel.  But  how  reckless  it  was  to  go  to  sleep 
in  the  garden  at  night!  How  many  Euro- 
peans had  been  attacked  by  vampires,  and 


PARVATI  147 

sometimes,  exhausted  from  the  loss  of  blood, 
had  not  wakened  at  all. 

The  search  around  the  lake  was  fruitless. 
The  scholar  went  on  to  the  palace,  the  stables, 
and  the  store-rooms.  The  servants,  whom  he 
questioned  in  their  own  language,  could  give 
him  no  satisfaction.  Gilbert  could  not  be 
found. 

Fearing  the  worst,  Verdier  decided  to  re- 
join the  dewan.  Hurried  footsteps  made  him 
turn  around. 

A  happy  voice — Zahour's — cried  breath- 
lessly: "He  has  come  back,  Sahib!" 

"At  last!"  exclaimed  the  philosopher.  And 
a  joyous  smile  spread  over  his  face. 

"This  way,  your  Excellency,  I  beg  of  you," 
he  added,  addressing  himself  to  the  dewan, 
who  was  solicitously  coming  toward  him. 
"We  have  just  found  Desroches,  the  rascal  I 
He  has  given  me  a  bad  scare." 

And  without  knowing  why  he  did  it,  Ver- 
dier, filled  with  childish  gaiety,  shook  the 
hand  of  Dhanpat-Roy.  In  confused  phrases 
he  thanked  the  minister  for  his  help,  as  if  the 


148  PAR  VAT  I 

man  had  something  to  do  with  the  return  of 
the  prodigal. 

The  courtier  received  the  avalanche  of 
compliments  with  a  politeness  that  was  a  little 
constrained.  His  preoccupation  showed  itself 
in  his  forced  smile,  but  he  tried  to  hide  his 
feelings  under  a  mask  of  courteous  congratula- 
tion. Noel  could  not  help  noticing  the  re- 
serve. It  contrasted  so  markedly  with  the 
friendliness  of  a  few  minutes  before.  Verdier 
was  astonished  at  the  change  and  could  see 
no  reason  for  it.  He  noticed,  too,  that  the 
minister  held  his  left  hand  carefully  closed. 
He  seemed  to  be  hiding  some  mysterious  ob- 
ject, a  jewel,  perhaps.  A  gleam  of  platinum 
showed  through  the  fingers.  Verdier  con- 
cluded that  the  dewan's  irritation  was  natural: 
the  police  duty  into  which  he  had  been  drawn 
by  the  tragic  aspect  which  the  case  had  pre- 
sented at  first,  had  developed  into  a  burlesque. 

They  exchanged  vague  wishes  of  good 
night,  and  went  away  in  opposite  directions: 
the  dewan  to  his  apartments,  Verdier  to  the 
Guest  House. 


PARVATI  149 

But  on  his  way  Dhanpat-Roy  changed  his 
mind,  retraced  his  steps,  and  made  his  way 
again  to  the  observatory  of  Jay  Singh.  When 
he  reached  the  Pavilion  of  Kotori,  he  care- 
fully examined  the  footprints  in  the  dust,  and 
shook  his  head  with  an  expression  of  doubt  on 
his  face. 

An  evil  smile  spread  over  his  face.  He 
slowly  opened  his  left  hand.  In  it  gleamed  a 
beryl  brooch.  Clenching  his  fist  as  if  to 
crush  what  it  held,  he  growled,  "I  hold  her 
like  this." 


XI 

If  the  astral  body  does  not  exist,  then  almost  all  of  the 
phenomena  of  the  centuries,  the  relations  between  one  be- 
ing and  another,  the  experiences  of  telepathy,  hypnotism, 
cases  of  somnambulism,  or  of  dual  personality,  are  inex- 
plicable. 

— FRANCOIS  DE  NION  :  La  Morte  Irritee. 

THE  sheets  and  blankets  slipped  out  of 
the  mosquito-netting.  Gilbert  awakened 
with  his  body  wet  with  perspiration  and  his 
eyes  dilated  with  fear. 
What  a  queer  dream! 

By  the  magic  wand  of  one  of  those  innumer- 
able Hindu  goddesses  with  whom  he  had  be- 
gun to  be  familiar,  he  had  been  transported  to 
the  edge  of  a  deep  lake  of  clear  sapphire  water 
upon  whose  golden  sands  peacocks  proudly 
walked.  A  perfumed  breeze  charmed  him 
with  soft  and  penetrating  sweetness.  The 
fragrance  was  of  jasmine,  and  iris,  and  roses. 

150 


PARVATI  151 

Women's  voices,  accompanied  by  violins, 
were  heard.  The  soft  music  seemed  to  come 
from  thick  bamboos  and  palms,  green-tufted, 
impenetrable  as  the  jungle  itself. 

But  on  the  beach  there  came  a  white  silhou- 
ette, diaphanous  and  vague  as  the  morning 
mist. 

It  was  a  legendary  princess,  whose  long 
black  lashes  fringed  dark  eyes  that  were  al- 
most too  big.  On  her  forehead  rested  a 
wreath  of  lotus;  in  her  arms  were  flowers. 
And  she  was  laughing.  A  little  cry  escaped 
her  youthful  mouth  when  her  naked  foot 
touched  the  cool  water. 

Scattering  petals  as  she  went  on  her  way,  the 
princess  tripped  along.  Her  long  brown 
tresses  half  hid  pearly  shoulders.  She  looked 
at  herself  with  instinctive  coquetry  as  the  lake 
gave  back  the  reflection  of  her  loveliness.  In 
the  distance  the  music  rose  again,  moving  and 
dramatic.  The  voices  chanted  in  a  minor  key. 
The  love-song  told  of  fear  and  suffering. 
The  violins  sobbed  and  wept.  But  the  prin- 
cess seemed  to  hear  nothing. 


152  PARVATI 

Horrors!  Back  of  her,  cutting  off  all  re- 
treat, monstrous  heads  covered  with  hideous 
black  hides  emerged  from  the  water.  Their 
eyes  were  glassy.  Their  nostrils  blew  out 
streams  of  water.  Hideous  jaws  opened  and 
shut.  Gilbert  saw  the  danger.  He  tried  to 
give  a  warning  cry,  but  no  sound  came  from 
his  throat.  Agony  paralyzed  his  tongue. 

The  princess  turned.  At  the  sight  of  the 
horrible  beasts,  she  screamed.  The  roses  and 
jasmine  fell  from  her  trembling  hands.  The 
monsters  swelled  and  swayed  in  rage.  Their 
drooling  jaws  closed  and  they  uttered  menac- 
ing growls.  Cowed  by  the  radiant  beauty  of 
the  child  and  by  the  perfume  of  the  flowers, 
they  retreated  as  if  some  magic  force  com- 
manded them  to  go  back  to  their  deep  hiding- 
place. 

She  laughed  joyously  and  with  a  touch  of 
irony.  She  sang. 

But  how  long  the  road  was !  And  now  the 
sand  seemed  to  give  way  under  her  flying 
steps.  Was  the  promontory  as  firm  as  it  was  a 
while  ago?  She  tried  to  withdraw,  but  in 


PARVATI  153 

vain.     It  had  become  an  island  surrounded  by 
sapphire  water. 

The  princess  was  in  a  panic;  she  did  not 
know  how  to  swim.  The  water  around  her 
was  rising  relentlessly.  Her  feet  sank  into 
the  sand,  then  her  body,  her  arms,  and  her 
lovely  head.  Even  the  abundant  curls  disap- 
peared, buried  in  the  quicksand.  Only  a 
lotus  flower  was  left  floating  upon  the  water. 

"Sahib,  there  is  a  woman  here  to  speak  with 
you,"  said  Zahour,  raising  the  curtain. 

"A  woman?" 

"Yes.  Something  urgent.  She  told  me 
her  name — Madavi." 

Desroches  leaped  to  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
Putting  on  his  pajamas  and  slippers,  he  or- 
dered Zahour  to  show  the  woman  in.  The 
bad  dream  was  still  with  him,  and  he  sensed 
something  ominous  in  the  early  visit  of  the 
queen's  old  nurse. 

In  wretched  English,  reinforced  by  a 
sprinkling  of  French  words  learned  from  the 
maharanee,  Madavi  explained  the  object  of 


154  PARVATI 

her  visit.  The  loss  of  the  brooch  gave  Parvati 
deep  concern.  She  and  the  nurse  hoped  the 
painter  might  have  chanced  to  pick  it  up  be- 
fore returning  to  the  bungalow.  He  did  his 
best  to  dissipate  the  terror  his  negative  reply 
produced  in  the  good  woman.  To  cheer  her 
up,  and  to  divert  her  from  her  anxiety,  he  in- 
quired if  Parvati  intended  to  appear  that  aft- 
ernoon at  the  elephant-fight  with  which  the 
maharaja  was  winding  up  the  Durbar  festivi- 
ties. 

"The  princess  was  sleeping  when  I  left,  but 
I  think  you  will  see  her  at  the  arena  beside  her 
husband."  Then  coming  back  to  the  subject 
that  was  uppermost  in  their  minds,  she  said 
stolidly:  "The  brooch  must  be  found.  It  is 
serious,  Sahib;  don't  you  see?  I  am  afraid  of 
death!" 

She  departed. 

In  order  not  to  attract  attention  she  followed 
the  ramparts  to  the  stables,  where  grooms 
were  brushing  and  currying  the  two  hundred 
and  fifty  horses  belonging  to  the  maharaja. 
The  superb  animals,  the  majority  of  which 


PARVATI  155 

came  from  Marwadi,  were  tied  by  the  right 
foot  to  chains  attached  to  the  ground.  As  she 
passed,  Madavi  stroked  a  proud,  glossy  neck, 
and  the  animal  neighed  in  appreciation  of  the 
caress. 

She  crossed  the  camel  yard,  where  the  su- 
percilious creatures  were  already  tied  two  by 
two  and  caparisoned  with  the  thick  carpet- 
like  trappings  they  wore  when  conveying  the 
ranees  to  the  combat.  The  elephant-fight  is 
preceded  by  a  cock-fight.  The  attention  of 
the  spectators  is  concentrated  upon  the  birds 
as  they  attack  and  counter-attack.  No  other 
small  creature  puts  such  ferocity  into  a  strug- 
gle. It  is  not  unusual  to  §ee  the  victor  crack 
the  skull  of  his  opponent  with  his  beak,  so  that 
the  poor  creature  is  brained.  Then  enthusi- 
asm knows  no  limit.  The  triumphant  cock  is 
cheered,  his  wounds  are  dressed,  and  he  eats  a 
dainty  meal.  To  the  feverish  audience  the 
birds  become  the  toys  of  delirious  cruelty,  the 
symbol  of  Shiva  the  sensual  and  of  the  blood- 
thirsty Kali. 

Madavi   hastened   toward   the   quarter   in 


156  PARVATI 

which  the  bazaar  of  the  antiquaries  and  brass- 
makers  was  situated,  where  there  dwelt  in  a 
squalid  hut  a  fakir  renowned  for  his  triple 
power  of  reconciling  enemies,  of  recovering 
lost  objects,  and  of  prophecy  of  the  future. 
He  worked  his  charm  through  simple  contact 
with  a  jewel  or  any  other  personal  possession 
of  the  inquirer.  He  was  called  Salamya. 
Many  people  had  seen  him  perform  miracles. 
He  often  heard  the  ring  of  native  and  foreign 
coins  as  they  fell  into  his  round  wooden  bowl, 
heaping  up  the  fortune  that  was  to  keep  him 
in  his  old  age.  Perhaps  the  holy  man  would 
reveal  the  hiding-place  of  the  compromising 
beryl  trinket.  This  was  the  thought  that  oc- 
cupied the  nurse  as  she  hurried  on,  too  ab- 
sorbed to  answer  the  greetings  of  the  mer- 
chants that  she  knew.  She  entered  a  dirty  lit- 
tle dwelling.  A  potter  crouching  over  his 
work  pedaled  the  flat  stone  upon  which  his 
clay  rested.  An  old  woman  was  turning  a 
primitive  spinning-wheel.  A  half-grown  boy 
was  crushing  grains  of  millet  with  a  pestle  and 


PARVATI  157 

a  hollow  stone.  Near  by  a  white  goat  with 
black  ears  was  suckling  a  miserable  baby. 

Without  hesitation,  Madavi  penetrated  a 
court  where  a  primitive  lean-to  sheltered  two 
men  sitting  on  their  heels.  She  recognized 
Salamya.  The  fakir  was  being  shaved  by  an 
ambulant  barber.  Patiently,  and  without  say- 
ing a  word,  she  waited  for  the  operation  to  be 
completed,  without  giving  a  single  gesture  or 
sign  to  show  that  she  was  there.  The  barber 
folded  up  his  dirty  towel,  rubbed  the  razor  on 
the  back  of  his  hand,  and  went  away  after  re- 
ceiving his  pittance. 

"What  do  you  want  now?"  demanded  the 
fakir,  roughly. 

"To  consult  your  Holiness,"  said  Madavi. 

AIs  it  a  quarrel  between  impious  Moham- 
medans and  sacrilegious  foreigners?  For 
that,  go  to  the  imam  or  to  the  priest.  I  recog- 
nize neither  Allah  nor  Christ." 

"It  is  something  that  is  lost." 

"Then  pay  quickly,  in  advance;  I  must  go 
to  the  baths." 


158  PARVATI 

The  nurse  dropped  a  rupee  on  the  worn  car- 
pet The  man  took  it  up  and  hid  it  quickly  in 
the  folds  of  his  belt.  Then  she  took  from 
around  her  neck  a  little  golden  charm  depict- 
ing Ganesha.  Its  marvelous  carving  had 
meant  the  use  of  the  magnifying  glass  and  infi- 
nite patience  on  the  part  of  the  artist  who  had 
made  it.  The  maharanee  had  inherited  it 
from  her  father,  who  had  got  it  in  his  youth 
from  a  venerable  Brahman.  It  was  therefore 
impregnated  with  the  astral  personality  of  the 
owner,  and,  as  she  always  wore  it,  it  was  a  per- 
fect pledge. 

The  fakir  seized  it  quickly  without  looking 
at  it,  without  stopping  to  admire  the  intricate 
carving.  It  was  enough  for  him  to  press  it 
tightly  in  his  hand  as  he  closed  his  eyes  and 
concentrated.  He  trembled  from  head  to 
foot. 

"The  pledge  is  strong,"  he  muttered. 

"Yes,  yes,  holy  man!"  exclaimed  Madavi, 
admiringly.  "Oh,  I  knew!  That  is  why  I 
brought  it." 

But  Salamya  did  not  hear.     His  eyes  were 


PARVATI  159 

fixed.  He  had  gone  into  a  trance.  He  was 
filled  with  the  astral  personality  radiating 
from  Parvati.  The  Hindu  was  suffering 
visibly.  In  vain  he  tried  to  mask  the  pain  that 
psychic  substitution  caused  him.  At  last  he 
was  overcome.  The  object  rolled  down  on 
the  carpet. 

"It  is  hard !"  he  whispered.  Beads  of  sweet 
stood  out  on  his  forehead.  "Give  me  another 
rupee,  my  good  woman.  The  pledge  burns 
me!" 

The  nurse  put  down  another  piece  of  silver. 
After  a  short  pause,  the  fakir  picked  up  the 
pledge  again  and  this  time  entered  a  state  of 
calmer  hypnosis.  The  magnetic  contact  was 
established,  and  it  facilitated  the  adoption  of 
the  spirit  world  to  the  problem. 

"Listen!"  he  hissed,  through  dry  lips. 

"I  am  listening." 

"The  pledge  belongs  to  a  woman,  some  one 
placed  very  high,  some  one  of  caste.  It  is 
a  married  woman.  Guilty — the  dog!  And 
her  companion  is  a  foreigner,  a  flesh-eater." 

"Not  so  loud!"  warned  Madavi. 


160  PARVATI 

"She  has  lost  her  caste,  tainted  forever. 
Danger  lurks  near  her.  The  lost  object  is  a 
brooch.  A  powerful  enemy  has  found  it. 
The  adulteress  is  lost.  She  will  never  see  the 
jewel  again.  She  must  run  away.  If  not, 
Shiva  takes  revenge  1" 

"Do  you  see  anything  more?"  asked  Ma- 
davi,  panting. 

"Nothing  more." 

"No  way  to  get  the  brooch  back?  No  hope 
of  escaping  revenge?" 

The  Hindu  pressed  the  charm  again.  He 
communed  with  the  unknown.  There  were 
drops  on  his  temples. 

"There  is  suspicion.  Her  husband  doubts 
her,"  he  continued.  "The  woman  escapes 
death  through  the  lack  of  convincing  proof. 
She  is  imprisoned.  Oh,  what  enemies  I" 

"And  the  foreigner?"  asked  the  nurse. 

"Will  die  unless  he  goes  away,"  said  the 
fakir. 

Then  he  added  mournfully:  "That  is  all. 
I  cannot  see  further." 

"Thank  you,  your  Holiness." 


PARVATI  161 

Another  coin  fell  into  the  wooden  bowl. 
Salamya  restored  the  pledge,  and,  mopping 
his  forehead,  he  asked:  "Are  you  satisfied?" 

Madavi  bowed  her  head  and  went  away. 


XII 

.  .  .  Subtle  souls  rise  from  blood  that  is  spilled,  a  spirit 
awakens  in  us  the  dormant  brute.  For  humanity  it  is  a 
bath  of  youth,  the  freshest  youth,  which  is  still  close  to 
the  animal. 

— MAURICE  BARRES:  Quelques  Cadences. 

DUST,  cries,  sunlight.  The  crowd  pushes, 
presses,  elbows.  The  roadway  is  in- 
vaded, the  pedestrians  overflowing  the  side- 
walks which  have  become  all  too  narrow 
for  them.  All  the  population  of  Jeypore — 
two  hundred  thousand  souls — seems  to  have 
deserted  houses  and  shops  to  crowd  in  compact 
groups  behind  the  circus  enclosures,  near  the 
Guwala-Rasta  and  the  Sanganeer  Gate.  It  is 
worse  than  a  corrida  real  at  Seville.  The 
sight  brings  back  the  picture  of  Roman  mobs, 
the  fierce,  idle  mobs  thirsting  for  blood,  who 
threw  to  the  Augustans  and  the  emperor  the 
double  ultimatum  of  pleasure  or  revolt: 
"Panem  et  Gircenses!" 

In  times  of  peace  the  games  were  organized 
162 


PARVATI  163 

lavishly  to  make  the  populace  forget  hunger. 
Rarely  had  the  Rajput  people  witnessed  a 
more  splendid  display  than  now.  The  bril- 
liancy and  pomp  glorified  the  power  and  mag- 
nificence of  their  royal  hosts.  Carriages, 
palanquins,  curious  chariots  with  heavy  silver 
mountings  that  clanked  as  they  moved,  were 
seen  on  the  highway.  A  detachment  of 
eunuchs  with  expressionless  black  faces  es- 
corted the  women  of  the  zenana,  walking 
slowly  beside  dromedaries.  Barbaric  music 
burst  forth  near  the  two  minarets  of  the 
gate,  and  a  battalion  of  volunteer  Nagas  de- 
filed through. 

Savage-looking  Janissaries,  forming  the  pri- 
vate guard  of  the  king,  marched  in  time  to  war 
music.  They  advanced  rhythmically,  in  per- 
fect formation.  Their  dark  tunics  were  em- 
phasized when  the  sun  caught  the  brass  shields 
and  the  tips  of  the  lances.  In  the  eyes  of  the 
warriors  themselves  their  claim  to  prestige 
rested  upon  a  refusal  to  accept  European 
equipment.  They  wished  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  British  troops. 


1 64  PARVATI 

The  great  square  was  thronged  with  specta- 
tors who  had  come  long  ahead  of  time.  They 
did  not  wish  to  lose  a  minute  of  the  elephant- 
fight.  The  panorama  included  the  vast  space 
between  the  City  of  Roses  and  the  British 
cantonment. 

The  Nagas  were  grouped  about  the  foot  of 
the  terrace  upon  which  had  been  erected  the 
official  tribunes.  The  benches  for  distin- 
guished spectators  had  been  covered  with 
green  velvet,  fringed  with  gold.  Directly  op- 
posite the  tribunes,  the  elephants  were  con- 
fined in  their  stables.  The  animals,  who  had 
been  fasting  since  yesterday,  waved  their 
trunks  furiously,  stretching  them  far  out  over 
the  confining  bars. 

The  beating  of  a  drum  announced  the  ar- 
rival of  the  sovereigns.  The  maharaja  was 
dressed  in  rose-colored  silk  and  on  his  head 
was  a  dazzling  diamond  tiara.  He  took  his 
place  in  the  central  box.  Beside  him  was 
the  maharanee,  clothed  in  white,  with  her 
face  half  veiled  by  a  flowing  scarf.  Grouped 
about  them  were  the  princes:  Nana  Singh 


PARVATI  165 

and  Arjouna,  the  Agha-Khan,  the  mahara- 
jas  of  Gwalior,  Bikanir,  Kapurthala,  and 
Jodhpur,  the  Maharana  of  Udaipur,  the 
Raja  of  Jind,  the  Jam  of  Nawanagar,  and 
the  Nawab  of  Dacca.  In  a  prominent  spot 
the  Gaikwar  of  Baroda  and  the  Begum  of 
Bhopal  were  stared  at  by  everybody  because 
of  their  extravagant  display  of  jewels.  All 
the  legendary  wealth  of  Golconda  swept 
before  the  masses  in  a  wave  of  fabulous  splen- 
dor. In  a  loggia  hermetically  enclosed  with 
lattices,  the  ranees  of  the  Elysium  were  iso- 
lated. 

Desroches  had  a  place  on  the  tribune  re- 
served for  European  guests.  He  was  seated 
beside  the  dewan,  the  obsequious.  The 
painter  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  royal 
box.  He  half  listened  to  the  pleasant  expla- 
nations of  the  minister.  He  regretted  that 
Noel  Verdier  could  not  see  the  charm  of  the 
vision,  worthy  of  the  "Thousand  and  One 
Nights."  But  the  theosophist  was  obdurate. 
His  doctrine  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
sanction  bloody  duels  between  animals. 


166  PARVATI 

A  bell  rang  in  a  tower.  The  gates  were 
opened.  The  first  elephant  came  out,  fol- 
lowed immediately  by  the  second,  his  rival. 
The  struggle  began,  full  of  hatred,  rage,  and 
cold  cruelty,  with  surprising  alternatives  of 
ruse  and  dissimulation. 

The  two  antagonists  measured  each  other 
with  their  eyes.  Their  heaving  breath  made 
little  balls  of  white  foam  drop  from  drooling 
lips.  The  two  mountains  of  flesh  hurled 
themselves  against  each  other.  It  was  as  if  a 
polar  steamer  blocked  between  two  monster 
icebergs  groaned  and  creaked.  Tusks  locked 
and  remained  motionless.  Trunks  were  in- 
terlaced and  neither  animal  would  let  go. 
Riveted  to  each  other  by  this  death  grip,  the 
combatants  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  get 
their  breath  and  devise  new  tactics.  The 
sight  was  magnificent  and  painful;  odious, 
also,  for  it  meant  that  two  kindly  beasts  had 
been  lashed  to  anger  and  destructive  hatred 
toward  each  other. 

The  trunks  relaxed,  and  after  a  retreat  the 
animals  charged  again,  heads  lowered,  tails  in 


PARVATI  167 

the  air.  Storms  of  applause  rose  from  the 
tribunes.  Covered  with  blood  and  foam,  the 
big  brutes  rushed  at  each  other,  uttering  cries 
of  fury.  It  was  horrible,  repugnant. 

Gilbert  looked  away  from  the  bloody  sight. 
His  eyes  sought  Parvati's. 

The  maharanee  was  standing  now,  and, 
fascinated,  was  gazing  at  the  horror.  He  saw 
the  beauty  of  her  figure,  and  as  he  gazed,  she 
was  to  him  altogether  desirable.  Gilbert  had 
only  contempt  for  the  prince,  and  for  the  fail- 
ure he  had  been  as  a  husband. 

The  dewan  caught  this  look.  Gilbert  had 
betrayed  himself.  A  cold  smile  hovered  on 
the  lips  of  the  minister. 

"A  good  fight,  was  n't  it?"  said  he,  turning 
to  the  ladies. 

"Oh,  but  the  blood!"  cried  Odette.  The 
combat  was  a  little  too  much  for  her. 

Arwar-Dass  broke  in. 

"Oh,  the  winner  has  only  a  small  wound  1" 
he  exclaimed.  "He  will  get  over  that,  my 
dear  baroness.  The  dead  animal  was  a 
beauty.  His  Highness  could  not  have  paid 


168  PARVATI 

less  than  ten  thousand  rupees  for  him.  Don't 
worry;  you  must  forget  about  it.  The  people 
must  be  amused.  The  king  buys  two  new  ele- 
phants to  add  to  his  stables  every  year  at  the 
time  of  the  Durbar." 

"Very  beautiful!"  observed  Sir  Leslie 
Turner.  "It  was  almost  as  good  as  a  prize- 
fight." 

"I  'm  surprised,"  observed  Mesnil-Guibert, 
"that  his  Highness  was  not  approached  by  a 
cinematograph  man.  It  would  have  made  a 
splendid  film." 

"Our  sovereign  would  certainly  have  re- 
fused it,"  replied  Dhanpat-Roy. 

"What  a  subject  for  your  palette,  Monsieur 
Desroches!"  It  was  Dhanpat-Roy  who  had 
taken  Desroches  aside  on  purpose  to  pay  him 
this  compliment. 

"Goodness,  your  Excellency,  I  am  a  por- 
trait-painter! I  could  only  make  a  mess  of 
my  canvas  if  I  tried  to  paint  that  scene.  You 
are  exaggerating  my  ability." 

"Not  at  all!  I  saw  the  portrait  of  her 
Highness,  the  maharanee,  yesterday.  What  a 


PARVATI  169 

likeness,  and  how  well  you  have  caught  her 
expression!  Ah,  you  understand  women, 
Monsieur  Desroches.  Now  I  know  why  she 
chose  you  to  paint  her  picture.  You  are  a 
specialist,  not  only  on  account  of  your  brush, 
but  through  your  personal  charm  as  well." 

Gilbert  bowed,  a  little  embarrassed.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  flattery  was  overdone, 
and  a  bit  ironical.  Perfidious  irony,  no 
doubt,  and  it  was  disquieting  to  find  it  in  the 
man  who  so  nearly  surprised  them  in  the  ob- 
servatory of  Jay  Singh.  Gilbert  affected  to 
see  in  the  words  of  the  minister  only  courteous 
admiration. 

"By  the  way,"  added  the  dewan,  "his  High- 
ness begged  me  to  give  you  this  envelop.  It 
contains  a  check  on  one  of  our  banks  in  Cal- 
cutta. We  heard  that  you  were  leaving  to- 
morrow with  your  friends  for  Benares,  and 
our  regrets  do  not  make  us  forget  our  grati- 
tude." 

Gilbert  went  pale.  This  unexpected  and 
prompt  settlement  of  the  account  was  equiva- 
lent to  a  dismissal.  It  was  polite  but  unmis- 


iyo  PARVATI 

takable.  In  spite  of  them  something  of  their 
love  had  been  revealed  and  noticed.  With- 
out protesting,  he  took  the  envelop  from  the 
hands  of  the  dewan  and  stammered  words  of 
formal  thanks. 

Was  their  beautiful  romance,  just  begun,  to 
end  in  so  banal  a  way?  He  had  to  go.  The 
pretext  of  the  portrait  would  no  longer  work, 
for  the  picture  was  done.  He  had  never 
faced  the  fact  that  the  day  would  come  when 
the  conventions  would  make  it  necessary  for 
him  to  go  away  from  her.  She  had  little  by 
little  taken  such  a  big  place  in  his  heart  that 
he  looked  upon  her  as  a  life  companion. 
And  it  was  just  because  he  had  not  allowed 
himself  to  think  of  these  things  that  he  was 
able  to  give  himself,  heart  and  soul,  to  the 
worship  of  her.  He  bowed  his  head  before 
the  pitiless  decree  that  exiled  him. 

And  when  he  stepped  down  from  the  trib- 
une, by  chance  he  caught  the  eye  of  the  queen. 
He  read  there  so  much  love,  mute  suffering, 
and  tenderness,  that  he  remembered  the  words 
she  had  sent  him: 


PARVATI  171 

Whatever  comes,  fix  the  day  and  the  hour.     I  will  fol- 
low you ! 

He  was  filled  with  infinite  hope.     He  re- 
mained the  master  of  the  future. 


PART  TWO 


Nothing  existed;  nothing  visible,  nothing  invisible. 
No  air,  no  sky.  All  was  confusion.  Being  reposed  in 
chaos,  the  universe  was  being  born,  through  its  own  piety. 

— VEDAS. 

To  DR.  PHILIPPE  DESROCHES 

Salpetriere,  Paris 

BENARES 

December  15,  19 — . 
My  dear  Philippe: 

Flaubert  could  never  have  been  consoled 
for  living  and  dying  without  having  known 
Benares.  You  old  friend  Noel  will  have 
lived  to  see  it  and  survive  the  sight. 

It  is  true  that  birth,  life,  and  death  are  the 
three  terms  of  the  human  syllogism,  and  that 
for  a  neopositivist  like  you  the  whole  thing 
is  summed  up  in  simple  attractions  and  dis- 
persions of  molecules.  From  my  point  of 
view  as  a  theosophist,  however,  we  are  only 
the  successive  reincarnations,  accomplishing 

175 


176  PARVATI 

their  upward  spiral  toward  the  immanent  and 
the  divine. 

But  a  discussion  of  these  things  is  not  the 
purpose  of  my  letter. 

Do  you  know  that  your  genial  artist  brother 
is  a  big  fool? — that  he  has  imagined  and 
realized  a  dream,  a  romance  worthy  of  a 
painter  psychologist;  or,  better  still,  of  a  poet? 
He  has  become  the  lover  of  a  queen! 

Yes,  a  queen,  my  friend!  And  you  will 
understand  of  whom  I  am  speaking.  It  may 
do  some  good  to  tell  you  all  we  have  been 
going  through  here.  Perhaps  afterward  I 
shall  have  time  to  tell  you  how  Benares  im- 
presses your  theosophist. 

The  thing  happened  very  recently,  during 
the  festivities.  Before  that  I  thought  it  was 
a  flirtation.  I  closed  my  eyes  to  it — or,  rather, 
half  closed  them.  But  it  is  no  flirtation.  We 
have  on  our  hands  a  serious  love-affair.  The 
worst  of  it  is  that  echoes  of  it  have  reached 
the  royal  ears.  Result?  We  have  been  dis- 
missed— politely,  to  be  sure,  but  firmly.  As 
for  the  unfortunate  queen,  I  suppose  that  at 


PARVATI  177 

this  moment  she  is  in  prison,  and  will  pass 
the  rest  of  her  days  shut  up  in  the  cloistered 
and  pitiless  zenana.  We  are  without  news 
of  her. 

To  come  back  to  your  brother,  I  confess 
that  his  state  of  mind  is  disquieting.  I  watch 
him  closely  for  fear  he  will  do  something  we 
should  all  regret.  I  am  wondering  if  I  can 
carry  out  my  mission.  The  Congress  of 
Madras  opens  in  less  than  a  month.  You  may 
be  sure  I  will  not  leave  Gilbert  alone.  His 
present  mood  might  lead  him  to  do  anything. 
I  am  convinced  that  he  is  perfectly  capable 
of  going  back  there  to  attempt  to  bring  about 
the  escape  of  the  princess.  This  would  mean 
certain  death  for  them  both. 

What  shall  I  do?  I  am  in  the  deepest  per- 
plexity. There  is  a  clash  between  my  duty  to 
the  newspaper  that  sent  me  out  here,  and  my 
responsibility  to  you  and  Gilbert.  Perhaps 
it  would  do  some  good  if  you  would  write 
to  the  incorrigible  fellow;  he  has  become  ac- 
customed to  my  daily  admonitions. 

I  can  only  give  you  a  sketch  of  my  impres- 


178  PARVATI 

sions  here.  My  head  is  too  full  of  our  problem 
to  permit  me  to  concentrate  upon  a  lengthy 
description.  Benares,  my  dear  friend,  is  tre- 
mendous. You  should  see  it  in  the  morning 
just  as  you  must  look  at  Stamboul  at  noon,  or 
at  Venice  at  twilight.  Soft  mists  float  on  the 
Ganges ;  the  people  are  bathing  on  the  banks. 
Along  the  quays  priests  light  bonfires,  one  by 
one — bonfires  that  will  consume  human  re- 
mains. Under  wide  parasols  crouching  Brah- 
mans  sell  good  counsel  and  prayers  to  kneel- 
ing believers.  And  above  in  his  minaret, 
Nanaga-Baba,  the  ascetic,  meditates  upon  the 
futility  of  earthly  destinies  as  he  watches  the 
flowing  river  and  the  burning  corpses.  It  is 
a  picture  of  calm  piety,  of  supreme  scorn  of 
death,  of  lofty  indifference  for  that  which  is 
only  dust. 

But  the  exposition  of  their  philosophy  must 
come  at  another  time.     I  hold  out  my  two 
hands  to  you,  and  to  our  mad  Gilbert,  with 
all  the  affection  of  which  I  am  capable. 
Your  devoted 

NOEL  VERDIER. 


II 

Men  hold  themselves  cheap  and  vile:  and  yet  a  man  is 
a  fagot  of  thunder- bolts. 

—EMERSON:  "The  Conduct  of  Life." 

THE  horses  of  the  Blues  galloped  madly 
up  to  the  ball,  and  in  two  successive 
bounds  succeeded  in  reaching  the  goal-posts, 
which  were  seven  meters  apart  and  marked 
the  Reds'  boundary  line.  One  of  the  players 
raised  his  stick,  but  his  pony,  suddenly  fright- 
ened, jumped,  and  the  light  wood  grazed  the 
field  without  touching  the  ball.  There  was 
a  moment's  hesitation  in  the  opposing  team. 
The  Reds  were  beginning  to  realize  how  close 
they  had  been  to  defeat.  They  rallied,  spur- 
ring their  mounts. 

It  was  indescribable  confusion.  The  po- 
nies, covered  with  foam,  hurled  themselves 
one  against  the  other.  The  riders  tried  to 
dislodge  the  ball  which  the  ponies  were 

179 


i8o  PARVATI 

trampling.  At  last,  seeing  a  slight  opening, 
little  Arjouna  deftly  slid  his  mallet  under  the 
stomachs  of  the  horses,  and  gave  the  ball  a 
swift  blow  which  sent  it  whirling  in  a  straight 
line  to  the  opposing  side. 

The  Blues  had  won  the  point.  They  yelled 
triumphantly.  Shouts  rose  from  the  boxes. 
The  maharaja  clapped  vigorously. 

"Very  nice  polo-player!"  said  Sir  Leslie, 
approvingly,  to  Nana  Singh,  the  father  of 
the  boy  whose  clever  play  had  saved  the  game. 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  replied  the  old 
man,  flattered  by  the  Englishman's  congratu- 
lations. "And  yet,  I  assure  you,  it 's  only  his 
third  really  serious  game.  It  is  true  that  he 
plays  golf,  and  that  has  helped  his  stroke  sur- 
prisingly." 

"Whatever  it  is,  he  plays  like  a  profes- 
sional," said  the  commissioner.  "The  prince 
must  join  the  Rajput  team  in  the  match  with 
the  Polo  Club  of  Lucknow." 

The  old  prince  nodded  his  head  rather  hesi- 
tatingly. In  the  coming  month  Arjouna  was 
to  go  tiger-hunting  with  the  Maharaja  of 


PARVATI  181 

Kuch-Behar.  The  engagement  was  of  long 
standing,  and  it  would  be  a  difficult  one  to 
break.  But  the  stubborn  Englishman  was  al- 
ready laying  his  scheme  before  the  heir  ap- 
parent himself,  who  was  now  beating  the  dust 
off  his  boots  with  his  stick,  at  the  foot  of  the 
grand  stand.  Then  to  make  sure  of  the  exact 
date  of  the  United-Province  match,  the  two 
men  made  their  way  to  Lady  Gladys,  who  was 
at  that  moment  talking  with  good  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams. 

"But  it  is  on  January  seventh,"  said  the 
beautiful  Englishwoman.  "Mrs.  Woodland 
told  us  so  yesterday.  Don't  you  remember, 
Leslie?  Oh,  that  is  true — I  beg  your  pardon 
• — it  was  before  you  got  back  to  the  Bungalow. 
It  is  on  the  seventh,  I  am  sure.  Major  Forbes, 
Mrs.  Woodland's  brother,  has  signed  up  for 
it.  The  viceroy  is  offering  a  silver  cup.  It 
will  be  the  great  event  of  the  Oudh." 

And  without  paying  further  attention  to  Sir 
Leslie,  who  was  hurrying  toward  Arjouna, 
Lady  Turner  and  her  companion  continued 
the  interrupted  conversation. 


i8a  PARVATI 

"And  you  found  her  as  ill  as  ever?" 

"Rather  more  so,  depressed  and  listless," 
replied  the  doctor.  "This  imprisonment  is 
gradually  undermining  her  health.  Just 
think! — shut  up  from  morning  till  night  in  a 
secluded  pavilion,  far  from  everything  and 
everybody,  with  her  nurse  and  Selim,  the 
enunch,  for  her  only  companions!" 

"It  will  kill  her  I" 

"I  am  afraid  it  will.  Oh,  the  poor  little 
thing!"  continued  the  Irishwoman,  in  an  un- 
steady voice.  "How  this  thing  has  changed 
her!  She  is  so  pale  and  thin.  You  would 
hardly  recognize  her.  At  times  she  has  bursts 
of  energy  that  astonish  me.  Yesterday,  for 
example,  she  dictated  a  long  document — her 
defense — which  she  wished  taken  to  his  Ma- 
jesty. But  the  dewan  was  on  the  watch.  The 
manuscript  did  not  reach  its  destination." 

"It's  terrible!  We  cannot  allow  this  state 
of  affairs.  I  shall  speak  of  it  to  my  husband 
this  evening.  The  government  will  inter- 


vene." 


"Thank  you.     But  whatever  you  do,  don't 


PARVATI  183 

hurry  matters.  A  false  move  might  spoil 
everything.  I  hope  we  can  save  her." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Williams.  But 
I  cannot  resign  myself  to  the  thought  that 
our  poor  friend  should  be  the  victim  of  a 
conspiracy,  that  she  should  be  shut  up  all 
her  life  for  a  trifle;  that  is  inconceivable. 
After  all,  it  was  nothing  but  a  flirtation,  an 
innocent  flirtation!" 

Mrs.  Williams  nodded  her  head  vaguely. 
Nevertheless,  because  she  did  not  know  how 
to  lie  easily,  her  cheeks  flushed.  She  had 
been  made  a  confidante;  but  rather  than  re- 
veal a  suspicion  of  what  she  knew,  she  would 
have  given  her  life.  She  rose,  and  to  hide  the 
embarrassment  she  felt,  left  Lady  Gladys. 

"Good-by,"  she  said.  "I  am  going  back 
to  the  Elysium." 

From  the  latticed  box  which  looked  out  on 
the  polo  field,  Djalina,  with  the  other  ranees, 
had  watched  Arjouna  and  the  Blues  win  their 
victory.  She  was  filled  with  secret  joy.  Was 
not  he  who  had  excelled  on  the  polo  ground 


1 84  PARVATI 

the  artless  lover  who  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  ensnared  by  her  witching  voice,  and 
the  grace  of  her  supple  body?  She  remem- 
bered, with  a  slight  feeling  of  uneasiness,  the 
first  awkward  expressions  of  admiration  from 
this  frivolous  boy.  He  had  soon  become 
bolder  and  more  determined  in  his  advances. 
At  first  the  favorite  had  wished  to  con- 
strue this  increasing  familiarity  as  only  the 
caprice  of  a  spoiled  prince.  He  was  not 
to  be  discouraged,  because  he  was  the  heir 
apparent  to  the  throne  to  which  she  also 
aspired.  Her  ambition  for  power  encour- 
aged her  to  fence  herself  about  with  alliances 
which  she  would  make  use  of  for  her  own 
ends. 

Little  by  little,  an  intimacy  had  grown  up 
between  the  low-caste  beauty  and  the  Aryan 
descendant  of  Rajput  kings.  In  the  discreet 
shadows  of  the  zenana,  their  lips  had  met — 
kisses  full  of  promise.  Arjouna  had  even 
suggested  something  more  audacious.  The 
affair  was  progressing.  Djalina  encouraged 
the  youngster.  She  was  too  far-seeing  to  lose 


PARVATI  185 

her  head ;  but  this  keen  and  wayward  woman 
had  a  plan  worthy  of  Catherine  the  Great. 
She  would  have  a  son  by  the  heir  apparent, 
and  swear  that  the  child  was  the  maharaja's. 
She  would  be  the  mother  of  a  royal  prince, 
and  could  therefore  oust  the  childless  Parvati. 

The  favorite  was  pondering  all  this.  Her 
face  lighted  up  with  haughty  joy.  If  she  did 
not  have  a  male  child,  she  would  at  least 
have  secured  an  ally  whom  she  could  control 
if  she  needed  to,  for  he  could  not  betray  her 
without  giving  himself  away. 

And  there,  in  the  loggia,  the  one-time  ser- 
vant to  the  queen  smiled. 

The  doctor  was  seated  in  a  carriage  driven 
by  a  turbaned  coachman  who  wore  the  royal 
livery.  She  was  hurrying  toward  the  bunga- 
lows and  tents  of  the  British  quarter.  She 
had  been  deeply  impressed  by  the  warmth 
with  which  the  wife  of  the  commissioner 
had  defended  the  maharanee.  Mrs.  Williams 
knew  she  could  depend  upon  the  sincere  and 
disinterested  cooperation  of  the  English- 


1 86  PARVATI 

woman,  who  from  the  very  first  day  had  recog- 
nized in  Parvati  a  high-class  Hindu  worthy 
of  friendship.  In  this  Gladys  was  different 
from  her  husband.  He  looked  upon  all 
Hindu  women  with  scorn,  and  called  them 
natives.  Nor  did  Lady  Turner  hide  from 
Mrs.  Williams  her  distrust  of  Djalina.  She 
was  not  deceived  by  the  growing  favor  with 
which  the  maharaja  treated  the  courtezan. 
The  wife  of  the  commissioner  never  lost  sight 
of  Djalina's  mean  origin,  and  was  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  her  intrigues. 

The  carriage  was  taking  the  direction  of 
the  zenana.  Mrs.  Williams,  changing  her 
mind,  told  the  coachman  to  go  first  to  the 
English  post-office  where  she  received  her 
mail.  Every  day  she  found  in  her  box  a  pile 
of  letters  and  pamphlets  bearing  the  stamps 
of  London,  of  the  big  Anglo-Indian  cities, 
and  of  places  in  Europe.  The  kindly  woman 
did  not  confine  her  energies  to  her  field  of 
local  activity.  As  vice-president  of  the  Lady 
Dufferin  Dispensary  at  Calcutta  and  as  a 
member  of  the  Red  Cross,  she  frequently  sent 


PARVATI  187 

to  London  and  Paris  and  America  detailed 
reports  upon  work  for  women  in  India.  She 
did  not  leave  her  patients  in  the  hospital  or 
in  the  palace  of  Elysium  very  often,  and  when 
she  did,  it  was  usually  in  order  to  answer  let- 
ters. 

When  she  opened  her  box,  she  found  a  no- 
tice advising  her  to  call  at  the  delivery  win- 
dow for  a  registered  letter  from  Calcutta. 
The  handwriting  on  the  outside  of  the  en- 
velop was  not  familiar  to  her.  She  quickly 
broke  the  seal: 

CALCUTTA 
Christmas,  19 — 
Dear  Mrs.  Williams: 

I  am  without  news  of  her  who  is  all  the  world  to  me. 
In  my  distress  I  appeal  to  you — you,  the  consoler  of  all 
who  suffer. 

Since  my  separation  from  the  being  that  I  love  with  all 
my  heart,  I  have  considered  putting  an  end  to  my  life. 
The  present  has  no  goal  and  there  is  no  future.  I  must 
turn  to  you,  hoping  that  if  you  judge  it  wise,  you  will 
restore  my  faith  and  courage.  You  will  find  with  this 
letter,  a  second  envelop  which  I  beg  you  to  deliver.  Its 
destination  could  not  be  guessed  by  any  one  that  might 
pick  it  up,  but  you  know  whom  I  mean.  You  love  her, 
and  have  defended  her  with  your  pity. 


i88  PARVATI 

Pity  me,  too,  Mrs.  Williams.  The  present  state  of 
things  will  be  fatal  to  me.  Our  love  has  made  me  an 
exile.  To  her  it  has  brought  perpetual  captivity,  perhaps 
death. 

Affectionately  and  gratefully, 

G.  D. 

P.  S.  I  shall  wait  eight  days  for  an  answer,  either 
from  you  or  from  her.  After  that  time  nobody  here  be- 
low will  need  to  worry  about  me  any  more. 

Mrs.  Williams  was  startled  by  this  strange, 
heartrending  note.  Making  sure  that  no  one 
was  watching  her,  she  read  it  again.  She  did 
not  question  the  author  of  the  letter.  The 
second  envelop,  without  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt,  contained  a  communication  from  Gil- 
bert to  Parvati.  Mrs.  Williams  trembled 
when  she  thought  of  the  trust  that  had  been 
confided  to  her.  She  was  almost  sorry  that 
she  had  signed  the  receipt  for  the  letter.  It 
was  not  that  she  was  afraid,  but  rather  that 
she  was  faced  with  painful  alternatives: 
either  she  must  become  the  willing  accomplice 
of  adultery  and  strive  to  make  further  offenses 
possible  for  the  lovers;  or  she  must  consent 
to  the  ruin  of  two  human  beings  both  of  whom 


PARVATI  189 

were  to  be  pitied,  the  one  a  prisoner  who  was 
slowly  dying,  the  other  at  liberty  but  on  the 
point  of  plunging  into  the  shameful  oblivion 
of  suicide. 

The  struggle  with  herself  left  her  cold  and 
trembling.  She  could  not  decide  which 
course  to  take.  The  sense  of  her  own  respon- 
sibility dazed  her,  till  she  could  no  longer 
think.  What  was  her  duty?  Should  she  be 
an  intermediary  in  the  crime?  No,  no!  She 
could  not  do  that!  Her  honor,  her  self-re- 
spect would  not  allow  it.  Was  she  not  the 
widow  of  a  hero?  Was  she  not  a  fervent 
Catholic,  and  the  vice-president  of  an  asso- 
ciation of  irreproachable  and  highly  respected 
women?  At  the  thought  of  the  shame  that  it 
would  bring  upon  her,  that  she  would  have 
to  blush  for  her  action,  she  felt  a  choking 
sensation  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

But  then,  after  all,  was  she  not  exaggerating 
her  fears?  Was  there  really  such  danger  in- 
volved? She  had  eight  days  of  grace  in 
which  to  find  some  way  out  of  the  mission 
chance  had  thrown  in  her  way.  If  necessary, 


190  PARVATI 

she  would  go  to  Calcutta  to  prevent  Gilbert 
from  carrying  out  his  mad  plan;  she  would 
make  him  listen  to  reason,  beg  him  to  be  sane 
and  resigned  to  his  fate.  She,  who  knew  so 
well  how  to  talk  to  the  sick  would  not  find  it 
hard  to  bring  him  back  to  his  senses,  to  show 
him  that  he  must  live  for  his  art  if  he  could 
not  live  for  his  love. 

Resolutely  she  slipped  the  letter  into  her 
blouse.  She  felt  her  heart  beating  faster  with 
the  protective  complicity  that  the  action  sig- 
nified. 

"Straight  to  the  Elysium,"  she  said  to  the 
sais  who  stood  by,  respectfully  awaiting  her 
orders. 


Ill 

I  charge  you,  O  daughters  of  Jerusalem,  if  ye  find  my 
beloved,  that  ye  tell  him,  that  I  am  sick  of  love. 

— THE  SONG  OF  SOLOMON. 

PA.RVATI  lay  on  a  couch,  listless  and  sad. 
One  hand  hung  almost  to  the  ground,  the 
other  held  in  place  on  her  knees  a  large,  richly 
bound  volume  which  was  so  old  that  its  quaint 
water-color  illustrations  were  torn  and  tat- 
tered like  old  medieval  manuscripts.  This 
treasure,  containing  the  works  of  the  national 
poet,  Kalidasa,  who  lived  in  the  seventh  cen- 
tury, would  have  been  coveted  by  the  most 
blase  of  book-collectors. 

She  was  reading  a  tragedy  called  "Shakun- 
tala."  The  artist  who  had  illuminated  its 
pages  had  drawn  the  graceful  heroine  of  the 
poem  in  profile,  like  a  Persian  miniature. 
She  held  a  tame  gazelle  by  a  leash,  and  was 

feeding  the  soft-eyed  creature  with  fragrant 

191 


192  PARVATI 

herbs  from  the  jungle.  The  maharanee  had 
closed  the  book  at  the  place  where  the  gentle 
Shakuntala  is  recognized  by  her  husband, 
King  Dushyanta. 

"Kalidasa  speaks  to  lovers,"  thought  the 
queen.  "Love  that  is  reborn  must  drive  away 
not  only  sorrow  but  also  repentance.  Alas,  I 
have  not  even  that  consolation!  Shall  I  ever 
see  my  lover  again?" 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  sobbed 
softly. 

The  nurse,  who  was  crouching  near  by,  rose 
quickly  to  her  feet. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  cry,"  she  protested, 
wiping  away  Parvati's  tears.  "Listen,  your 
Majesty:  I  had  a  dream  last  night.  It  was 
revealed  to  me  that  our  sufferings  will  soon  be 
at  an  end.  Only,  you  will  not  be  queen  any 
more.  Let  us  run  away.  Then  we  shall  be 
free.  You  can  go  to  your  foreigner.  I  will 
follow  you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth." 

"Poor  Madavi!  What  of  my  caste?  I 
must  not  give  it  up.  You  think  of  me  only 
as  a  woman  in  love,  suffering.  Men  and  the 


PARVATI  193 

gods  would  have  their  revenge.  Does  he  still 
love  me?" 

"He  loves  you,  I  am  sure  of  that.  My 
dream  told  me  so.  He  loves  you  and  is  dying 
for  you." 

"A  dream  is  only  a  dream  1  I  must  have 
proof." 

She  put  down  her  book,  listlessly,  and  fell 
to  watching  the  sky.  The  clouds  were  sta- 
tionary, for  there  was  no  wind.  You  could 
hear  the  regular  tread  of  the  Rajput  sentinel 
walking  up  and  down  at  the  foot  of  the  tower 
staircase.  There  was  always  a  sentinel  there, 
guarding  the  prisoners  night  and  day.  Above 
the  roof  pigeons  circled. 

"Look  at  the  cloud,"  said  the  maharanee. 
"It  seems  to  be  floating  eastward  toward  Cal- 
cutta. He  must  be  there." 

"It  is  floating  in  the  direction  of  liberty  1" 
said  Madavi,  very  softly.  "It  is  showing  us 
the  way,  my  mistress ;  let  us  follow." 

"Go  your, way,  my  beautiful  cloud,"  mur- 
mured Parvati.  "Go,  like  the  Meghaduta, 
your  poet.  Nurse,  give  me  the  book  again, 


194  PARVATI 

the  old  book  of  our  great  Kalidasa.     I  want  to 
sing  the  verses  about  the  Messenger  Cloud." 

She  seized  the  love  poems  from  the  hands 
of  her  servant,  fingered  the  jeweled  clasps  of 
the  volume,  and  turned  the  pages.  Then  she 
sang: 

"O  cloud,  you  are  far  above  all  troubles. 

Carry  news  of  me  to  my  beloved, 

Him  from  whom  my  angry  master  separates  me. 

Go  to  the  City  of  Kalighat, 

Whose  palaces  are  white 

Under  the  shining  moon. 

....*••• 

"Listen  to  me,  O  cloud, 

I  will  tell  you  the  way, 

I  will  give  you  the  message. 

If  the  long  journey  tires  you, 

Rest  upon  the  eternal  mountains; 

The  pure  wet  air  that  rises  from  the  rivers 

Will  give  you  new  courage." 

Parvati  stopped  to  meditate.  Then  she 
sang  again : 

"Go.     You  will  find  hint  reclining  on  his  white  bed, 
Shedding  tears. 

He  has  grown  thin  like  the  moon  when  it  is  on  the  wane, 
He  is  sighing,  and  he  longs  for  sleep, 


PARVATI  195 

That  will  bring  him  a  happy  dream  of  kisses 
Of  his  beloved. 

"His  sadness  will  make  your  tears  to  fall; 
And  those  who  do  not  know  will  call  it  rain. 
When  at  length,  O  friendly  messenger, 
You  shall  see  him  consoled, 
Behold  him  taking  life  again. 
Float  back  and  bring  me  word  from  him, 
That  will  refresh  me  as  your  dewdrops  revive 
Thirsty  flowers." 

She  could  not  finish  singing  the  stanza. 
The  book  slipped  from  her  fingers.  She  held 
out  her  hands — supplicating  hands — to  the 
cloud.  It  was  fading. 

When  the  last  fleck  of  the  cloud  had  dis- 
appeared, she  sobbed  and  threw  herself  into 
the  arms  of  the  faithful  nurse. 

"You  must  persuade  her  to  lie  down.  And 
bathe  her  temples,"  declared  Mrs.  Williams. 
"Go,  Madavi,  tell  Selim  to  give  you  my  medi- 
cine case.  Poor  little  queen!  She  is  so  frail! 
She  needs  a  stimulant.  I  shall  give  her  a 
hypodermic." 

In  her  alarm  Madavi  ran  into  the  vestibule, 


PARVATI 

where  the  eunuch  was  awaiting  orders.  The 
maharanee  had  fainted  just  as  he  arrived  with 
Mrs.  Williams.  Quickly  the  Irishwoman  lis- 
tened to  the  heart  of  her  patient.  Happily, 
there  was  no  cause  for  alarm  here.  But  she 
was  concerned  lest  the  anemia  persist,  bring- 
ing grave  complications.  Parvati  ate  little  or 
nothing,  nightmares  troubled  her  sleep.  The 
rules  of  the  prison  did  not  permit  exercise. 
The  maharaja,  urged  by  Djalina  and  the 
dewan,  was  implacable.  He  insisted  upon 
strict  adherence  to  the  rules  relating  to  pris- 
oners. Djalina  and  the  dewan  hoped  this 
treatment  would  bring  about  the  prompt  dis- 
appearance of  their  enemy. 

"Where  am  I?"  stammered  Parvati.  She 
was  reviving.  "Is  that  you,  Gilbert?" 

"It  is  your  friend,  my  princess,  your  good 
friend  Mrs.  Williams.  Come,  this  is  noth- 
ing! Drink  your  medicine,"  coaxed  Madavi. 

The  doctor  administered  a  cordial  which 
she  had  hastily  prepared.  She  was  kneeling 
beside  the  limp  body.  She  tenderly  raised 
the  head  of  the  queen.  The  maharanee  took 


PARVATI  197 

the  glass  and  obediently  swallowed  the  drink 
that  would  put  life  into  her. 

"It  is  you,  my  darling?  Why  did  you  wake 
me?  It  was  so  good,  I  thought  I  was  dying, 
like  the  cloud.  It  was  a  sweet  sensation — the 
end  of  everything." 

"You  must  not  lose  your  grip,  dear  little 
one.  You  must  brace  up." 

"What  is  the  use!  Is  life  worth  living? 
I  am  so  tired  1  Everything  is  against  me. 
Enemies,  prison  for  the  rest  of  my  days,  the 
scaffold.  I  have  too  much  against  me.  I 
give  up  the  fight.  I  am  conquered! — con- 
quered!" 

She  burst  into  tears  again.  Her  great  sor- 
row, expressing  itself  almost  childishly,  went 
straight  to  the  heart  of  the  doctor.  She  took 
Parvati's  hands  in  her  own,  stammering  futile 
words : 

"Poor  little  friend!  Yes,  I  pity  you.  But 
you  must  have  courage." 

"Courage?"  cried  Parvati,  and  her  voice 
was  shrill.  "Oh,  I  have  none  left!  To  have 
the  strength  to  live,  I  must  have  hope.  My 


198  PARVATI 

only  hope  is  in  him,  for  he  loves  me.  But  he 
has  gone  away;  he  has  forgotten  me." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

The  little  queen  straightened  up  suddenly. 
She  devoured  Mrs.  Williams  with  eyes  dilated 
with  fever.  There  was  so  much  pleading  in 
those  eyes  lighted  with  inner  fire,  that  the 
doctor  felt  she  had  no  right  to  torture  her 
patient  by  keeping  back  the  truth  and  depriv- 
ing her  of  Gilbert's  letter. 

"Listen,"  she  said  softly,  so  troubled  that 
she  breathed  quickly.  "I  promised  myself 
not  to  tell  you,  not  to  give  you — I  mean  I  did 
not  want  to  become  an  accomplice.  But  you 
are  suffering  too  much.  It  is  n't  fair,  it  would 
not  be  human!"  She  drew  Gilbert's  letter 
out  of  her  blouse.  "No!"  she  added,  "he  has 
not  forgotten  you.  He  loves  you.  Read 
this!" 

Trembling,  the  maharanee  seized  the  let- 
ter. Mrs.  Williams  was  crouching  on  the 
divan  with  her  head  in  her  hands,  while 
Parvati  read  the  hastily  written  lines  of  her 
lover. 


PARVATI  199 

THE  GREAT  EASTERN  HOTEL,  CALCUTTA 

Christmas,  19 — . 
My  darling: 

Like  Werther,  I  write  you  a  letter — a  letter  that  is 
supremely  sorrowful.  But  will  you  get  it  in  time?  Or, 
like  Charlotte,  are  you  coming  to  find  me? 

To-day  is  Christmas.  A  happy  Christmas!  Cognac  is 
burning  on  puddings.  Champagne  is  flowing.  Men  are 
kissing  girls  under  the  mistletoe. 

And  I  am  alone!     All  alone! 

But  I  did  n't  want  any  of  this  to  trouble  my  little  talk 
with  you.  I  have  even  sent  away  from  me  my  devoted 
friend,  who  is  like  a  brother  to  me.  He  tried  to  make 
me  go  out  and  enjoy  myself,  hoping  to  inspire  me  with 
his  own  gaiety.  But  I  preferred  to  stay  here  alone  with 
your  sweet  image.  I  wanted  the  memory  of  those  fleeting 
exquisite  days. 

If  only  I  could  be  sure  that  this  letter  would  finally 
come  to  your  hands! 

I  have  based  all  my  hopes,  the  few  hopes  remaining  to 
me,  upon  the  aid  of  a  kind  woman.  She  is  the  only  one 
who  understands.  She  alone  will  assume  the  responsibil- 
ity of  what  might  come  to  pass.  Her  goodness  will  as- 
suage my  pain  and  yours ! 

They  tell  me,  my  dear,  that  you  are  deposed,  that  there 
has  been  a  plot  in  the  palace.  They  have  succeeded  in 
making  you  a  prisoner.  And  I  tremble  lest  this  be  a 
mask  hiding  a  horrible  reality.  Perhaps  I  am  writing 
this  letter  to  a  dead  woman.  This  thought  turns  me  to 
ice.  Shall  J  have  been  the  involuntary  murderer  of  her 


200  PARVATI 

for  whom  I  should  be  willing  to  give  the  last  drop  of  my 
life's  blood? 

No,  no!  I  cannot  admit  that  possibility.  I  must  be- 
lieve that  you  are  living,  and  that  you  still  cherish  the 
love  for  which  you  have  so  nobly  sacrificed  peace, 
liberty,  your  very  existence.  Something  tells  me  that 
the  future  can  still  be  beautiful  for  us  who  laugh  at 
death. 

Ah,  the  sadness  of  my  departure,  my  precious  queen! 
Do  you  remember  that  last  look  you  gave  me  the  very 
moment  that  the  enemy  was  closing  in  upon  us?  The 
memory  of  that  look  never  leaves  me.  There  was  in  it 
your  proud,  independent  soul.  And  it  was  to  save  you 
fiom  horrible  punishment  that  I  fled  the  next  day.  My 
own  sacrifice  was  nothing,  your  safety  everything !  Did  it 
succeed  ?  Only  you  can  tell  me. 

And  since  then? 

Ah,  since  then,  what  martyrdom!  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  The  marvel  of  Benares,  Calcutta,  and  its  pleasures 
cannot  supplant  the  magic  of  that  moonlight  night ! 

And  must  I  say  good-by  to  everything? 

No,  I  have  struggled,  suffered,  wept,  tried  to  forget, 
but  I  cannot.  I  long  for  you ! 

And  so,  my  dear  girl,  when  you  receive  this,  you  will 
decide  my  fate.  Life  without  you  is  meaningless,  a  black 
gulf  that  swallows  up  all  faith  in  justice,  art,  goodness. 
You  have  revealed  to  me  something  that  I  have  never  be- 
lieved could  exist.  You  would  not  allow  this,  your 
handiwork,  to  disappear  because  I  had  to  take  my  own 
life! 


PARVATI  201 

If  you  love  me,  you  must  join  me  at  any  cost ;  you  must 
forget  rank,  caste,  and  your  gods. 

Not  till  then  can  I  believe  that  you  are  that  divine 
being,  the  faithful  beloved  who  never  forgets. 

From  him  who  dies  because  he  is  separated  from  you, 
and  waits — 

G. 

Happy  tears  were  falling  down  her  face. 
There  was  so  much  fervor  in  his  pleading,  so 
much  tenderness  and  sincerity  in  his  confes- 
sion, that  she,  in  turn,  was  amazed. 

Could  it  be  true  that  this  frivolous  French- 
man, this  man  of  the  world,  this  spoiled 
Parisian  whom  she  had  thought  to  be  a  skep- 
tic, was  capable  of  a  strong  passion?  Could 
he  offer  her  a  love  that  would  endure  for  all 
time?  It  was  more  than  she  had  hoped.  The 
brightness  of  the  vision  made  her  close  her 
eyes.  She  was  quiet  and  dumb  in  the  face  of 
such  ecstasy. 

The  Irishwoman  was  still  sitting  there  with 
her  head  in  her  hands,  conscious  that  she  had 
crossed  the  Rubicon,  conscious  of  her  com- 
plicity. Parvati  threw  her  arms  about  her 
friend,  covering  her  face  with  kisses. 


202  PARVATI 

"I  am  so  grateful  to  you,  my  darling,  for 
the  comfort  you  have  brought  me!  Now  I 
believe,  I  hope." 

"Don't!"  stammered  the  doctor.  "I  am  a 
culprit.  I  ought  not  to  have  done  it.  I  shall 
suffer  with  remorse  all  my  days!" 

"Don't  say  that,  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Williams! 
What  you  have  done  is  glorious;  you  have 
saved  two  souls." 

The  door  opened  and  a  pale  and  trembling 
Madavi  appeared.  The  doctor  turned  away, 
but  Parvati,  transfigured,  threw  herself  into 
the  arms  of  her  nurse. 

"He  loves  me!  He  loves  me!  You  were 
right,  Madavi!  See,  he  has  written  to  me. 
He  is  waiting  for  me.  We  will  go  to  him!" 

"Yes,  we  must  escape  from  these  cursed 
walls.  Vishnu  be  praised!  Dreams  never 
go  wrong." 

She  drew  Parvati  into  the  embrasure  of  the 
window. 

"Look,"  said  she.  "The  cloud  is  going  to- 
ward the  east.  It  is  a  good  omen!" 


IV 

And  now,  the  opium  he  had  abandoned  took  its  revenge. 
A  confused  sensation  flowed  through  his  muscles.  Some 
were  numb.  Others  tingled.  Felze,  motionless  and  with 
his  eyes  closed,  no  longer  felt  the  weight  of  his  body  as  it 
rested  upon  the  braided  reeds. 

— CLAUDE  FARRERE:  La  Bataille. 

KOUSHA  was  carving  meat,  cutting  it 
into  small  pieces  ready  to  be  distributed 
among  the  inhabitants  of  the  pond.  The 
pariah,  pitiful  creature  that  he  was,  was  proud 
of  this  duty.  He  boasted  that  he  had  a  real 
place  among  the  officials  of  the  maharaja. 
Feeding  his  master's  pets  had  become  the  ob- 
ject of  his  existence.  He  spent  his  time  tam- 
ing odd  creatures.  He  charmed  them  with 
soft  music,  a  rhythmic  whistle  he  gave  with 
his  lips,  without  the  help  of  an  instrument. 
The  sound  of  Kousha's  music  was  a  reminder 
of  feeding-time.  Voracious  tortoises  and 
hideous  lizards  glided  through  the  sleepy 
water,  pushing  aside  the  reeds  and  the  lotus, 

303 


204  PARVATI 

swimming  swiftly  toward  the  stone  steps. 
There,  bit  by  bit,  the  pariah  threw  them  their 
abundant  meal. 

"Rocco!  Rocco!  Atcha!"  scolded  Kousha, 
kicking  an  enormous  crocodile,  more  greedy 
than  the  others,  that  was  trying  to  get  more 
than  his  share  of  the  red  meat. 

The  animal  retreated.  He  lashed  the 
water  with  his  tail,  and  snapped  his  jaws 
noisily.  But  Kousha  remained  stern.  He 
loved  to  electrify  a  European  visitor  by  stick- 
ing his  foot  calmly  into  an  enormous  mouth. 
There  had  never  been  an  accident;  the  mon- 
sters apparently  had  learned  to  love  their  mas- 
ter. 

Little  sharp  cries  were  heard,  and  the  beat- 
ing of  wings.  Frightened  egrets  flew  away 
from  the  water  grass.  Somebody  was  walk- 
ing along  the  alley.  The  early  morning  fog 
made  it  impossible  for  Kousha  to  make  out 
who  it  was.  He  squinted  his  eyes,  and  looked 
again.  It  seemed  to  him  very  much  like 
Madavi,  although,  he  reflected,  it  was  hardly 
likely  at  this  hour.  Service  of  the  maha- 


PARVATI  205 

ranee  scarcely  ever  required  Madavi  to  be 
about  so  early.  But  now  there  was  no  doubt; 
the  old  woman  was  beside  him.  She  was 
certainly  looking  for  him.  He  threw  the  re- 
maining bits  of  meat  into  the  cloudy  water. 
The  crocodiles  hastened  to  capture  it,  splash- 
ing and  struggling  to  get  ahead  of  one  an- 
other. 

The  Hindu  knelt  on  the  marble,  before 
Madavi. 

"Speak!     I  obey." 

"First  of  all,"  said  Madavi,  "swear  to  me 
that  you  will  not  reveal  to  a  living  soul  the 
secret  I  am  going  to  confide  to  you.  It  does 
not  belong  to  me." 

"I  swear!" 

"You  must  take  an  oath,  you  must  make  the 
vows  of  your  sect,  the  vows  made  by  your 
brothers,  the  Nirvanist  P'aousigars,  the 
rirvirl" 

The  man  was  seized  with  a  trembling.  His 
cheeks  paled;  he  hesitated. 

Before  the  commanding  eyes  of  Madavi,  he 
conquered  his  distress,  closed  his  eyes,  ex- 


206  PARVATI 

tended  his  right  arm,  and  repeated  confused 
phrases  that  appeared  to  give  satisfaction  to 
the  servant  of  his  queen. 

"That  is  right,"  said  she,  reassured.  "I 
trust  you.  Remember  that  you  have  repeated 
before  a  woman  of  caste  your  most  sacred  vow. 
Ankayal  kannamaya!  You  know  what  awaits 
you  if  you  break  it  I" 

"I  know,"  murmured  the  pariah  in  a  low 
voice.  "Let  the  string  of  my  boots  strangle 
me,  and  let  Mrityu,  the  god  of  Death,  and 
Yama,  the  god  of  Decay,  take  me  if  I  faill" 

"Now  come  closer." 

She  made  sure  that  they  were  alone.  Then 
she  whispered  to  him  the  queen's  plan  to  take 
flight,  to  escape  from  her  enemies.  She  told 
Kousha  how,  by  chance,  she  Jiad  learned  that 
to-night,  at  the  second  hour,  the  relief  of  the 
guard  was  to  be  made  by  Mohammedan 
sepoys.  She  told  him  of  the  duty  that 
awaited  him.  Not  a  muscle  moved  in  the 
bronzed  face;  only  a  fugitive  light  shone  in 
the  dark  eyes  when  he  heard  that  the  second 
watch  was  to  be  taken  by  sentinels  belonging 


PARVATI  207 

to  the  abhorred  sect  of  Islam.  But  the  face 
immediately  regained  its  look  of  a  mask,  pas- 
sive, motionless,  impenetrable.  When  Ma- 
davi  had  finished  her  long  and  detailed  in- 
structions, the  pariah  bowed  his  head,  indicat- 
ing by  this  mute  and  simple  gesture  his 
acquiescence  in  the  plan. 

With  an  instinctive  movement,  Kousha's 
hand  went  to  his  belt.  A  leather  thong,  care- 
fully hidden  under  his  blouse,  was  tied  by  a 
curious  knot  to  the  belt.  Madavi  exchanged 
with  Kousha  a  comprehending  smile. 

"That  is  well,"  she  whispered.  "Above  all, 
don't  let  her  see  you!  She  would  not  under- 
stand that  certain  things  are  necessary." 

Selim  had  one  fault  without  which  he 
would  have  been  his  Highness's  model  wait- 
ing-man. He  gave  way  in  secret  to  his  favor- 
ite and  only  passion,  opium.  He  had  no  other 
means  of  satisfying  his  sensual  cravings. 
After  several  pipes  of  the  drug,  he  experi- 
enced a  sense  of  enjoyment  which  amounted 
to  ecstasy.  A  feeling  of  well  being  came  to 


208  PARVATI 

the  good  Mussulman,  like  a  taste  of  the  heav- 
enly joy  to  come  later  in  the  Paradise  of  Allah 
and  Mohammed.  To  his  sorrow,  the  oppor- 
tunities for  getting  the  precious  drug,  and  en- 
joying it  at  his  leisure,  were  becoming  rare. 
His  hours  were  long,  and  his  task  rigorous. 
He  had  the  responsibility  of  watching  over 
the  prisoner  queen.  His  position  as  head 
eunuch  imposed  upon  him  the  inspection  of 
the  posts  and  the  relief  of  the  sentinels  of  the 
zenana. 

But  temptation  had  never  been  greater  than 
to-night.  When  he  got  to  his  room  after  din- 
ner, in  the  corridor  that  led  to  the  maha- 
ranee's  cell,  where  he  placed  his  bed  at  night, 
he  stumbled  over  a  small,  neatly  wrapped 
package.  It  had  fallen  there  as  if  by  accident. 
The  brave  Selim  trembled  with  joy  when  he 
found  that  the  parcel  contained  a  complete 
smoking-outfit — a  pipe,  a  little  lamp  with 
bulging  glass  bottom,  long  needles,  and  the 
pot  holding  the  brown  substance  with  its 
haunting,  irritating  taste.  No  doubt  some 
sepoy  had  lost  the  precious  packet 


PARVATI  209 

Selim  suddenly  thought  of  a  plan — first,  to 
make  sure  that  his  coreligionists  would  attend 
to  the  relief  of  the  second  watch;  then,  to 
protect  himself  by  asking  the  mail-clerk  to 
see  that  the  guards  went  on  duty  at  the  proper 
time.  Now  it  happened  that  the  eunuch's 
plans  were  carried  out  exactly  as  he  had  made 
them.  The  promise  of  a  few  pipefuls  won 
for  Selim  the  assurance  that  his  friend  Ser- 
geant Abdallah  would  replace  him. 

"By  the  sacred  stone  of  the  Kaaba!"  mur- 
mured Selim  when  he  entered  his  own  room. 
"The  first  puff  of  smoke  rises  to  the  praise 
of  the  one  who  deserves  it — the  unknown  gen- 
erosity to  which  I  owe  it."  He  undid  his 
sleeping-roll.  Out  of  respect  for  the  maha- 
ranee,  he  placed  a  sandalwood  screen  at  the 
door  of  his  prisoner's  cell.  He  was  good 
enough  to  spare  her  the  nauseating  fumes  of 
the  drug.  Then  lying  down  on  his  side,  with 
a  couple  of  books  for  a  pillow,  he  began  to 
make  the  first  little  ball.  With  the  silver 
needle  his  agile  fingers  mixed  the  opium.  He 
carefully  placed  the  drug  in  the  hollow  bam- 


210  PARVATI 

boo  receptacle  above  the  little  lamp.  A  long 
gurgling  inhalation.  He  held  his  breath. 
And  then  a  luxurious  expiration  as  he  blew 
clouds  of  smoke  from  his  nostrils. 

One  pipe,  two  pipes,  three  pipes,  ten  pipes, 
then  twenty,  then  thirty.  The  restless  needle 
never  stopped  plunging  into  the  brown  paste. 
He  realized  that  the  aroma  had  a  peculiar 
tang  about  it. 

Hours  passed,  and  Selim,  with  wide-open 
eyes,  fastened  the  gaze  of  his  dilated  pupils 
on  the  door  leading  to  the  corridor.  Strange! 
The  polished  brass  knob,  reflecting  the  glim- 
mer of  the  lamp,  seemed  to  exercise  upon  his 
weary  retina  a  sort  of  fascination,  a  hypno- 
tism that  finally  troubled  him.  It  became  an 
obsession,  and  then  turned  to  suffering.  To 
escape  from  it,  the  man  tried  to  get  control 
of  himself.  He  made  an  attempt  to  rise  from 
his  couch.  But  his  legs  were  unsteady.  He 
fell  back  on  his  bed,  struggled  vainly  against 
the  torpor  that  was  creeping  over  him,  and 
finally  was  sleeping  profoundly. 


PARVATI  211 

Is  it  the  effect  of  the  opium,  or  has 
some  unknown  hand  introduced  a  narcotic? 
Through  the  blankness  that  has  come  over 
his  brain  a  shadow  passes.  The  eunuch 
thinks  he  sees  the  door  to  the  royal  chamber 
open.  A  bronzed  hand  gently  pushes  back 
the  screen.  Then  two  dim  figures,  with 
muffled  steps,  emerge  into  the  vestibule. 
The  taller  form  holds  a  dark-lantern,  and 
beckons  to  the  other,  hesitating  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  to  follow. 

Indistinguishable  words  are  exchanged. 
Then  the  smoker,  in  spite  of  his  paralysis, 
hears  the  following: 

"Are  you  sure  that  he  is  asleep?" 

"Yes,  I  gave  him  a  triple  dose." 

"But  if  he  should  speak?" 

The  larger  shadow  smiles  and  murmurs: 
"Impossible.  Come!" 

And  Selim  knows  now  that  what  he  sup- 
posed was  an  hallucination  is  reality.  He  tries 
to  shout.  His  lips  contract  over  dry  gums,  his 
burning  throat  responds  only  with  a  hoarse 


212  PARVATI 

breathing.  The  two  feminine  forms  are  al- 
ready at  the  door;  they  turn  for  the  last  time 
to  look  at  the  sleeper.  Reassured,  they  dis- 
appear as  mysteriously  as  they  came.  Selim, 
with  a  fainting  heart,  hears  their  soft  footfalls 
on  the  floor  of  the  corridor. 

The  fear  on  his  face  changes  to  hatred,  and 
he  grimaces  in  diabolic  joy. 

Are  not  the  faithful  Abdallah  and  his 
cronies  below?  They  will  stop  the  fugitives. 

With  straining  ears,  they  listen  for  a  few 
minutes  to  the  steps  of  the  sentinel  before  the 
northern  postern.  Inside  the  barracks,  the 
silence  of  death.  Although,  muses  Madavi, 
there  must  be  two  or  three  guards  within, 
waiting  to  relieve  others.  They  are  smoking, 
gambling,  laughing,  perhaps!  With  vague 
disquiet  she  descends  quickly,  and  risks  being 
seen  in  the  narrow  hall.  A  strange  sight  is 
before  her:  three  sepoys,  stretched  out,  face 
down,  are  on  their  pallets.  No  disorder  in 
the  room,  where  a  sooty  little  lamp  is  dying. 

She  advances. 


PARVATI  213 

On  the  threshold  a  man  rises,  seeming  to 
bar  the  way.  Madavi  stifles  a  cry  at  the  sight 
of  Kousha. 

"Well?"  asks  the  nurse  anxiously. 

"Kali  is  great  and  protects  you,"  was  the 
laconic  reply  of  the  pariah. 

Then,  showing  the  old  woman  the  leather 
thong,  he  adds  in  a  whisper:  "Hurry  1  One 
more,  and  the  road  is  open." 

"This  is  good.  I  am  pleased  with  you. 
You  are  faithful." 

She  ascends  to  the  maharanee,  while  the 
Nirvanist  crawls  along  the  wall  leading  to 
the  northern  postern  gate. 

Before  the  sentinel-box,  the  guard  tramps 
back  and  forth  in  the  fog.  He  is  unconscious 
of  danger,  full  of  health  and  good  humor, 
swinging  along  with  the  gait  drilled  into  him 
by  Anglo-Saxon  conquerors.  Suddenly  he 
utters  a  cry.  He  stretches  out  his  arm,  and 
his  gun  falls  to  the  ground.  He  writhes, 
with  the  death-rattle  in  his  throat.  His  eyes 
are  wide  open,  showing  only  the  whites. 
Some  one  had  sprung  at  him  and  thrown  him 


214  PARVATI 

down,  binding  him  as  if  with  steel  wires.  A 
few  struggling  movements,  a  spasm,  a  sigh, 
then  nothing  more. 

The  sinister  work  is  done.  Two  minutes 
and  a  lightning  blow  suffice  to  put  an  end 
to  a  young  and  robust  soldier.  The  strangler 
rises,  and  coolly  knots  his  thong  to  his  belt. 
Loading  his  victim  on  his  back,  he  throws  the 
body  into  the  sentinel-box. 

Soft  steps.  It  is  the  fugitives,  who  have 
been  joined  by  their  faithful  Kousha.  They 
pass  through  the  gate.  The  nurse  has  shaded 
her  lantern,  but  the  road  is  familiar.  How 
many  times  has  Madavi  made  her  way  through 
little  obscure  streets  to  the  Chand  Pole,  one  of 
the  central  gates  of  the  City  of  Roses  1  From 
there  she  used  to  reach  the  British  Quarter, 
either  by  the  Kasha-Bandha  or  by  the  station 
road.  The  latter  leads  straight  to  the  station, 
passing  in  front  of  the  summer  palace,  hidden 
in  verdure.  By  this  road,  also,  she  has  often 
gone  to  the  uncomfortable  hotel  frequented 
by  tourists,  to  carry  some  royal  message  to 
distinguished  foreign  visitors. 


PARVATI  215 

But  to-night  the  road  seems  very  long. 

"Your  Highness,  we  must  hurry.  We  must 
get  there  before  the  half-past  one  train.  We 
have  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"I  am  following  you,  my  good  Madavi. 
I  am  so  weak,  you  see — so  tired!" 

In  their  second-class  compartment  the  fugi- 
tives, dressed  in  Parsee  costume,  look  out  at 
the  quays.  The  night  is  cool.  Under  clumps 
of  trees  poor  creatures  lie  shivering  in  their 
thin  red  blankets. 

"Heavens!  How  slowly  the  minutes  pass! 
Why  this  delay?  When  will  they  give  the 
signal  for  the  train  to  start?"  murmurs 
Parvati. 

"Ah!  they  are  coming,  the  people  who  are 
holding  up  the  train!"  adds  Madavi. 

Three  Hindus  appear,  one  an  old  man  with 
a  white  beard.  Certainly  the  flight  of  the 
prisoners  has  been  discovered!  Surely  these 
three  emissaries  will  stop  them  and  throw 
them  into  prison  before  turning  them  over  to 
frightful  torture! 


2i6  PARVATI 

And  Parvati — broken,  terrified — throws 
herself  upon  Madavi's  breast.  Madavi  fran- 
tically clutches  the  dagger  she  is  concealing 
under  her  veils.  But  the  train  whistles,  and 
then  moves  slowly.  It  was  only  a  false  alarm. 
And  this  time,  Parvati  raises  her  head,  happy, 
transfigured.  She  is  no  longer  the  queen — 
only  a  loving  woman  1 


V 

Leaders  of  men  are  most  frequently  not  men  of  thought, 
but  men  of  action.     They  are  not  clairvoyant,  they  could 
not  be — clairvoyance  generally  leads  to  doubt  and  inertia. 
— GUSTAVE  LsBoN:  Psychologic  des  Foulcs. 

"/CHARGE!"  shouted  the  major.  The 
^^  cavalrymen  spurred  their  mounts. 
There  was  an  indistinct  blur  of  red  and  black. 
Rifle-shots  rang  out  here  and  there,  and  the 
crowd  burst  into  clamors  of  fright,  cries  of 
supplication,  and  indignant  exclamations. 
Old  men  with  bloody  heads  were  in  flight; 
women  groaned,  trampled  under  the  horses' 
hoofs;  children  fell,  struck  by  bullets.  The 
shooting  continued.  The  students  had  raided 
the  MacDonald  warehouses,  and  had  opened 
murderous  fire  against  their  assailants. 

Major  Hutchinson — pale,  wounded  in  the 
shoulder,  despairing  of  the  cause — gave  his 
lancers  the  signal  of  retreat.  He  had  seen 
a  detachment  of  police  pouring  through  an 

217 


2i8  »P,ARVATI 

adjacent  street.  They  were  followed  by 
Ghurka  infantry,  armed  to  the  teeth.  The 
unexpected  reinforcements  rallied  the  courage 
of  the  imperial  troops.  But  the  raiders  were 
still  strong;  their  unreasoning  fanaticism, 
aggravated  by  peril,  had  stirred  them  into  su- 
preme revolt.  It  was  evident  that  they  would 
fight  as  long  as  their  supply  of  ammunition 
let  them  make  a  show  of  resistance.  Finally, 
however,  overcome  by  numbers,  the  survivors 
retreated  in  good  order  toward  the  Hugli. 
The  most  prudent  ran  to  the  river  banks  and 
hastily  rowed  to  the  other  side;  others  swam 
across.  But  the  majority  of  them  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  loyalists.  Among  them  was 
the  student,  Dulah  Singh,  and  the  baboo, 
Rama  Mukkerji,  instigators  of  a  movement 
for  which  the  funeral  of  the  martyr  student, 
Tanaagotto,  had  been  only  a  pretext. 

It  had  been  the  result  of  the  tolerance  of 
the  English.  They  had  been  too  optimistic, 
too  sure  of  themselves,  too  desirous  of  main- 
taining their  attitude  of  patience.  After  the 
hanging  of  a  young  anarchist — the  editor-in- 


PARVATI  219 

chief  of  the  Yugantar  (secret  journal  of  revo- 
lutionary Shwadeshism),  and  organizer  of  an 
attempt  to  bomb  the  Bombay-Calcutta  Ex- 
press— the  body  had  been  confided  to  the 
man's  comrades.  They  were  going  to  cre- 
mate it,  according  to  Brahman  ritual.  The 
warden  of  the  prison,  after  telephoning  to  the 
viceroy  for  permission,  had  granted  the  re- 
quest of  the  students.  The  procession  was 
formed  under  the  friendly  eyes  of  the  police 
and  the  regular  troops.  The  body  of  the 
martyr  was  carried  by  a  delegation  from  the 
university  through  the  principal  streets  of  the 
city.  It  was  a  quiet  procession  that  made  a 
favorable  impression  upon  the  populace. 

But  a  breath  was  enough  to  fan  smoldering 
fires.  At  a  street  corner,  as  the  students  were 
approaching  the  spot  where  the  cremation  was 
to  take  place,  a  young  man  climbed  upon  a 
wall  and  harangued  his  comrades.  He  urged 
them,  out  of  respect  for  the  dead,  to  take  off 
their  boots,  and  to  follow  their  late  companion 
barefooted.  This  would  be  a  pledge  of  fra- 
ternal and  patriotic  solidarity.  The  short  and 


220  PARVATI 

vibrant  discourse  of  the  student,  Dulah  Singh, 
had  electrified  his  followers.  Murmurs  ran 
through  the  crowd,  subdued  at  first,  but  soon 
rising  in  force.  Then  a  chant,  intoned  by 
the  baboo,  Mukkerji,  in  the  language  of 
Bengal,  was  taken  up  by  ten  thousand  voices. 

Then  it  was  that  Major  Hutchinson  had  in- 
terfered, at  the  head  of  his  lancers.  He  was 
met  with  hisses  and  jeers. 

The  charge  had  done  the  rest. 

"If  only  he  is  not  caught  in  that  fracas  1" 
Parvati  whispered  into  the  ear  of  her  nurse. 
They  had  succeeded  in  making  their  way 
through  the  curious  onlookers  who  crowded 
around  the  stretchers.  "I  tremble  when  I 
think  he  might  be  among  the  dead  or  the 
wounded.  Come,  Madavi,  let  us  hurry  to  his 
hotel." 

At  the  Great  Eastern  they  were  much  re- 
lieved to  learn  that  the  two  French  gentle- 
men had  left  three  days  before  for  the  Him- 
alayas. Their  mail  was  to  follow  them  to 
Woodland's  Hotel  at  Darjiling. 


PARVATI  221 

That  evening,  the  two  women  took  the  train 
for  Siliguri.  At  Darjiling,  Parvati  would 
talk  with  Gilbert  and  the  theosophist  as  to  the 
plans  for  their  flight. 

It  was  hardly  possible  that  the  escape  of 
the  Queen  of  Jeypore  had  not  been  discovered. 
All  India  must  know  of  it.  However,  upon 
her  arrival  at  Calcutta,  Parvati  saw  nothing  in 
the  newspapers  about  it.  This  silence,  al- 
though superficially  reassuring,  troubled  her 
profoundly.  Better  than  anybody  else,  she 
understood  the  pitiless  jealousy  of  the  maha- 
raja.  She  feared  the  consequences  of  his 
wounded  vanity.  She  felt  that  this  lack  of 
news  was  ominous. 

To  avoid  curious  eyes  in  the  dining-room 
of  the  boat,  Parvati  and  Madavi  were  sitting 
well  forward  on  the  deck.  They  were  watch- 
ing a  Hindu  boatman  sounding  the  channel. 
This  was  a  necessary  precaution.  Navigation 
on  the  Ganges  has  to  guard  against  sandbars. 

Wide  as  the  sea,  the  Ganges  flowed  by  the 
women.  Silence  reigned  upon  its  mournful 
immensity.  One  could  make  out  in  the  fog 


222  PARVATI 

occasional  fishermen  casting  their  nets  from 
phantom  boats.  The  maharanee  felt  a  wave 
of  remorse  sweep  over  her.  In  vain  she  tried 
to  chase  it  away.  The  waters  of  the  sacred 
river,  in  which  she  had  bathed  even  in  Europe, 
during  her  childhood,  reproached  her.  A 
sudden  dizziness  drew  her  mysteriously  to- 
ward the  brown  water.  And  who  knows 
whether,  if  she  should  try  to  drown  all  her 
sadness,  the  waves  would  not  wash  her  up 
upon  the  banks,  refusing  to  condone  her  sacri- 
lege! 

Even  the  image  of  her  beloved  could  not 
completely  dispel  dark  presentiments. 

Her  beloved! — the  man  for  whom  she  had 
given  up  everything!  Could  his  tenderness 
ever  equal  her  sacrifice?  Would  Gilbert 
ever  learn  to  love  her  sacred  mountains? 

Ah !     Her  thoughts  tortured  her  1 

The  slow  climb  in  the  Himalaya  train,  and 
the  wild  beauty  of  the  scenery,  gave  the  fugi- 
tive queen  a  happy  diversion.  Although  she 
knew  India  well,  she  had  never  visited  Sik- 


PARVATI  223 

him.  Snowy  peaks,  impenetrable  virgin  for- 
ests, cascades  tumbling  through  ravines,  were 
a  revelation  to  her.  The  perpetual  zigzag 
of  the  well-constructed  roadbed  interested 
her,  too.  There  was  a  locomotive  at  the  head 
of  the  train  and  another  at  the  rear  end,  for 
there  were  many  steep  places. 

And  then  the  type  of  the  inhabitants  was 
different.  It  was  no  longer  the  fine  Aryan 
profile,  the  straight  nose,  the  oval  chin,  and 
big  black  eyes,  but  an  ethnic  transformation. 
The  change  was  complete,  and  very  striking. 
She  saw  Mongol  and  Tibet  types,  mountain 
types — men  with  yellow  skin  and  almond  eyes, 
with  wide  smiling  mouths  that  did  not  show 
the  lassitude  she  was  used  to  seeing  among 
her  own  compatriots.  When  they  had  passed 
through  the  tea  plantation  of  the  Kurseong, 
they  came  face  to  face  with  the  majestic  peaks 
of  Kunchinjinga.  Oh,  the  untrodden  and  im- 
maculate barrier  of  snow!  It  seemed  to  her 
that  upon  these  formidable  heights,  these 
domes  and  peaks  and  needles,  a  prophetic  hand 
had  graven  this  command : 


224  PARVATI 

"Stop!    Thou  shalt  go  no  farther!" 

And  now  she  allowed  herself  to  be  carried 
toward  Woodland's  Hotel.  The  weight  of 
her  primitive  chair  was  borne  by  women's 
arms.  In  this  strange  Darjiling,  women  do 
the  work.  The  men  are  occupied  in  smoking, 
meditating,  gossiping,  or  turning  little  prayer 
mills.  She  was  thinking  about  the  attitude 
she  would  adopt  shortly.  She  would  register 
at  the  hotel  as  Madame  Sorabjee.  It  was  the 
name  of  one  of  her  Parsee  friends  in  Bombay. 
She  hoped  this  precaution  would  prevent 
suspicion.  And  then,  without  disclosing  what 
she  was  doing,  she  would  find  out  from  the 
register  the  number  of  the  room  occupied  by 
Gilbert  and  Noel.  Madavi  would  be  charged 
with  carrying  the  joyful  message  to  her  lover. 

Then,  timidly  knocking  twice  at  a  door,  the 
nurse  made  her  way  to  the  veranda  where  Des- 
roches  was  working.  The  painter  started. 
His  pastels  fell  to  the  floor  and  were  smashed 
in  many  pieces. 

"Madavi!     Is  it  possible!"  he  stammered. 

A  waxen  pallor  came  over  his  features.    He 


PARVATI  225 

leaned  against  a  column,  clutching  the  door- 
knob. 

"I  understand."  He  spoke  with  effort. 
"She  is  dead.  They  have  killed  her.  And 
you  come  to — " 

"No,  no,  Sahib!  She  is  living,  she  loves 
you,  she  is  free!  She  is  waiting  for  you  I" 

The  faithful  Hindu  woman  hurriedly  told 
the  story  of  their  flight.  She  explained  how 
the  sovereign  had  not  hesitated  to  lay  aside 
the  dignity  of  her  position  as  maharanee,  her 
rank  as  a  royal  wife,  her  prejudices  of  caste 
and  religion,  to  come  to  him.  Joy  lighted  up 
Gilbert's  face. 

"Noel!"  he  called.  "Noel!  Come  quickly! 
She  is  here.  I  am  saved.  I  love  her.  I 
live." 

The  theosophist  appeared  in  the  doorway 
leading  to  the  next  room.  At  the  sight  of  the 
nurse  and  of  the  transfigured  Gilbert,  he  un- 
derstood all.  On  his  lips  was  a  kindly  smile, 
slightly  tinged  with  irony. 

"Listen,"  said  he,  when  the  first  moment  of 
exaltation  had  passed,  and  his  friend  had  let 


226  PARVATI 

go  the  hand  he  had  been  pressing  without 
knowing  it.  "All  this  is  lovely,  but  you  will 
oblige  me  by  remaining  quietly  in  your  room. 
Do  not  budge  from  here.  I  shall  go  to  meet 
her  first.  In  the  state  you  are  in,  you  would 
forget  yourself  and  compromise  us  all.  More 
than  ever,  you  must  be  prudent  to-day."  And 
when  Gilbert  protested  and  tried  to  get  away, 
Noel  barred  his  path.  "Oh,  people  in  love 
are  all  the  same!  Five  minutes  of  patience 
and  I  will  bring  her  to  you." 

Soon  the  door  flew  open,  and  Parvati  threw 
herself  into  the  arms  of  her  lover. 

"You!  It  is  you!"  he  repeated,  kissing  her 
again  and  again.  "Oh!  I  'd  give  my  whole 
life  for  this!" 

And,  overcome,  the  proud  descendant  of 
Surya,  the  shining  god  of  glorious  dawns, 
stammered : 

"I  love  you!" 


VI 

He  returns,  and  my  days  will  be  happy  again, 
For  they  will  find  peace  and  light. 
Hand  in  hand,  we  shall  journey  toward  the  dawn, 
We  shall  not  fear  when  we  depart,  an  early  morning  in 
summer. 

— A.  BARRATIN:  Lueurs  du  Soir. 

THEY  spent  five  dream  days.  The  vital- 
ity of  one  revived  the  other.  The  color 
came  back  to  Gilbert's  cheeks,  and  the  princess 
regained  strength.  The  only  witnesses  of 
their  happiness  were  the  two  beings  who  lav- 
ished upon  them  tenderness,  fraternal  or  hum- 
ble. No  echo  of  their  flight  was  heard  in  the 
newspapers.  No'  doubt  in  the  zenana  the 
scandal  had  been  hushed  up.  In  her  happi- 
ness, Parvati  succeeded  in  gradually  regain- 
ing confidence. 

She  could  now  believe  that  her  enemies 
were     disarmed.     If     the     affair     remained 

strictly  the  secret  of  the  king  and  his  imme- 

227 


228  PARVATI 

diate  associates,  what  would  be  the  object  of 
hunting  her  like  a  wild  beast?  What  had 
been  the  motives  of  Djalina? — to  supplant 
her?  This  had  been  done.  What  was  the 
purpose  of  the  combined  intrigues  of  Dhan- 
pat-Roy,  the  dewan,  and  of  the  Grand  Brah- 
man? To  put  her  off  the  throne,  to  recover 
their  former  influence,  and  to  govern  through 
the  favorite?  Their  machinations  had  suc- 
ceeded beyond  their  hopes.  Dead,  the  maha- 
ranee  might  have  brought  upon  them  later  on 
— who  knows? — terrible  retaliation.  Living, 
she  had  been  voluntarily  dishonored,  had 
renounced  forever  the  privileges  of  her  rank 
and  of  her  caste. 

Would  the  jealousy  of  Bhagavat  Singh 
enter  into  play?  His  new  passion  for  the 
beautiful  Djalina  would  soon  pacify  his  ini- 
tial rage,  and  would  cause  him  to  forget  an 
adulterous  wife.  Perhaps  he  had  even  se- 
cretly welcomed  the  combination  of  circum- 
stances that  had  liberated  him  from  bonds 
that  had  grown  too  heavy. 

Parvati  had  no  trouble  in  making  her  lover 


PARVATI  229 

agree  with  her  conclusions.  Gilbert  smiled 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  when  Noel,  more 
thoughtful  and  less  enthusiastic,  tried  to  rea- 
son about  his  blind  optimism.  The  philoso- 
pher, owing  to  his  profound  study  and  his 
remarkable  faculty  of  objective  observation, 
understood  the  soul  of  the  Hindu  better  than 
the  painter.  Without  pushing  to  an  extreme 
the  theories  of  Fichte,  Hegel,  and  Schelling — 
the  gods  of  his  early  university  days — Noel 
professed  that  nothing  in  human  deductions 
is  absolute. 

One  is  always  suspicious,  said  he,  of  human 
deductions,  for  they  are  tinged  with  subjec- 
tivism. In  his  mind,  there  was  no  reason  to 
conclude  that  the  enemies  of  the  fallen  queen 
would  abandon  their  projects  of  hatred  and 
persecution.  The  victorious  Djalina  and  the 
contented  dewan  would  rest  with  the  abdi- 
cation of  the  sovereign;  he  could  admit  that. 
But  that  the  maharaja  would  bow  before 
the  affront  to  which  he  had  been  subject, 
without  seeking  revenge,  that  seemed  to  him 
to  be  beyond  belief.  And  then,  there  was 


230  PARVATI 

the  dark,  enigmatic  face  of  the  high  priest, 
Khoudarsha.  His  fanaticism  could  become  a 
formidable  adversary. 

This  evening  they  went  to  their  rooms  early. 
An  excursion  was  planned  for  the  next  day. 
They  were  to  be  wakened  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning  to  see  the  sunrise  on  the  Hima- 
layas. A  carriage  had  been  ordered  for  Par- 
vati.  She  was  to  be  escorted  by  the  two 
friends  riding  on  ponies.  The  itinerary  was 
the  usual  one  over  the  mountain;  a  halt  at 
Tiger  Point  where  they  could  see  the  view, 
and  the  light  of  the  sun  on  the  summit  of 
Gaurisankar,  called  Mount  Everest  by  the 
English.  After  a  meal  that  they  would  carry 
in  their  basket,  they  would  make  the  descent 
across  an  abandoned  village.  There  Verdier 
proposed  to  visit  an  old  hermit,  a  deposed 
raja,  who  had  been  converted  to  Buddhism. 
In  his  bamboo  hut  he  lived  a  life  of  medita- 
tion, detached  from  all  earthly  desires. 

A  thick  fog  lay  over  everything  when  the 
little  caravan  started  on  its  way.  Guides  went 
ahead  with  lanterns.  At  first  the  ascent  was 


PARVATI  231 

rough  and  fatiguing,  across  a  maze  of  zigzag 
paths.  The  hoofs  of  the  ponies  dislodged 
little  stones,  which  rolled  down  noisily.  No- 
body talked  very  much.  The  three  travelers 
rode  along  most  of  the  way  in  Indian  file. 
Their  eyes,  becoming  used  to  the  darkness, 
distinguished  a  kind  of  rustic  shack  erected 
on  a  ledge  where,  on  one  side,  it  commanded 
the  limitless  plain,  and  the  basin  of  the 
Ganges.  In  the  other  direction  were  five  suc- 
cessive chains  of  mountains,  ending  in  a  mass 
of  white  giants.  The  same  splendid  impres- 
sion moved  them  again  to  silence  when,  arriv- 
ing at  Tiger  Point,  where  they  were  lost  in 
morning  mist,  they  could  see  the  first  light 
of  dawn. 

There  was  a  diffused  silver  light  that 
pierced  the  horizon  in  a  parallel  band  that 
tapered  at  the  two  extremities.  This  thin, 
filtering  light  revealed  confusedly  the  mean- 
dering rivers  and  tributaries  and  ponds  that 
seemed  like  so  many  veins  and  arteries  feed- 
ing the  vast  body  of  the  Hindustan  penin- 
sula. Black  clouds  stood  out  fantastically  in 


232  PARVATI 

the  pearly  light  that  was  losing  its  whiteness 
little  by  little,  and  turning  to  straw-yellow  and 
amber  and  orange.  And  then  the  clouds  were 
torn  away  and  a  lake  of  fire  appeared.  The 
vision  was  Dantesque,  sinister,  terrifying. 
The  black  clouds  became  lost  souls  dancing 
in  an  infernal  ring,  hideous  and  eternal! 

Parvati,  clinging  to  Gilbert,  appeared  to  be 
fascinated  by  the  magnificent  and  awful  pano- 
rama. Trembling  seized  her,  although  the 
painter  leaned  over  her  with  mute  and  tender 
inquiry.  But  she  remained  inscrutable,  her 
eyes  riveted  on  the  spectacle.  Finally,  as  he 
pressed  her  to  answer,  she  murmured,  "He  is 
coming!" 

Two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"You  are  crying!"  exclaimed  Gilbert, 
alarmed.  "Why,  my  darling?" 

"Because  it  is  beautiful!" 

She  spoke  the  truth.  It  was  beautiful,  a 
fairy  scene. 

Now  the  lost  souls  grew  dim  and  faded  into 
the  lake,  become  an  ocean.  The  sea  was 
purple  now,  and  blood-red,  doubtless  from 


PARVATI  233 

their  suffering  and  their  repentance.  In  his 
supreme  gentleness  God  granted  that  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  sinners  should  not  endure  for 
centuries,  despite  the  implacable  word  he  had 
given  them  in  the  Scriptures.  An  era  of  pity 
and  of  mercy  was  opening  in  this  golden  light, 
in  which,  perhaps,  the  sublime  Redeemer 
would  descend  a  second  time. 

But  while  the  believing  Desroches  was  in 
an  ecstasy  of  imagination,  Parvati,  proud  and 
erect  and  with  quivering  nostrils,  was  look- 
ing straight  at  the  sun.  Neither  adultery  nor 
sacrilege  could  efface  from  her  mind  the 
legend  with  which  the  Brahmans  themselves 
had  fed  her  childhood,  the  legend  that  you  can 
read  on  every  page  of  the  Vedas.  It  was  the 
legend  that  all  India  proclaims. 

"Daughter  of  Surya!  Daughter  of  the 
Sun!" 

A  great  joy  entered  into  her,  despite  her 
crime,  despite  her  denial  of  her  caste,  despite 
the  outrage  to  her  gods.  Whatever  might  be 
undertaken  against  her,  never,  never  could  any 
one  deny  her  celestial  origin,  or  contest  the 


234  PARVATI 

glory  that  swept  back  of  her  into  the  past  for 
tens  and  tens  of  centuries.  She  was  thinking 
of  all  that.  And  Gilbert,  who  had  guessed  it, 
bowed  his  head,  conscious  of  his  humble  rank 
and  birth,  and  turned  sadly  away  from  her. 
She  noticed  his  distress,  and  it  made  her  heart 
swell  with  pity. 

She  approached  him,  and  gazing  up  at  him, 
kissed  him. 

When  they  entered  the  little  garden  of  the 
hermit,  where  chickens  were  feeding  on  a 
pile  of  refuse,  the  old  man  was  seated  out  of 
doors  on  a  throne  made  of  teakwood.  The 
throne  was  marvelously  carved  by  unknown 
artists,  and  was  the  only  vestige  of  past  glory. 
The  hermit  took  pleasure  in  sitting  upon  it, 
meditating  upon  human  vanity.  And  with  a 
fine  scorn  for  his  surroundings,  the  former  po- 
tentate was  pleased  to  surround  his  throne  with 
manure  and  rubbish  through  which  he  had  to 
pass  each  time  he  wished  to  sit  upon  the 
throne.  Penance  for  his  past  life,  for  de- 
bauches, and  for  tyranny?  Or  symbol  of  the 


PAR  VAT  I  235 

compromises  that  cowardice  and  villainy  used 
to  bring  about  his  accession  to  power? 

In  spite  of  his  repugnance,  Noel  had  to  soil 
his  boots  with  the  vile  earth  of  the  little  gar- 
den in  order  to  hand  to  the  motionless  dreamer 
the  letter  of  introduction  from  his  friend  of 
the  House  of  the  Sages  of  Benares.  The 
ascetic  took  it  without  a  word,  and  read  it  with 
lusterless  eyes. 

Then,  reluctantly  shaking  himself  out  of  his 
hypnosis,  he  remarked  to  the  theosophist: 

"Then  there  are  among  the  foreigners  that 
come  from  the  West  men  who  seek  instruction 
in  our  doctrine?" 

"Yes,  master,"  replied  Verdier. 

Pointing  to  Parvati,  the  old  man  continued : 

"She  does  not  belong  to  your  country.  It 
seems  to  me  there  flows  through  her  veins 
blood  that  is  not  very  different  from  mine." 

"It  is  a  noble  lady  of  the  Parsees,  who  is 
interested  in  your  wisdom  and  in  your  science. 
Like  me  and  like  my  friend,  she  longs  to  hear 
words  of  truth  from  your  lips." 

"Parsee,  you  say,   Parsee!"  he  answered, 


236  PARVATI 

shaking  his  head  as  if  he  doubted  it.  "My 
eyes  have  probably  lost  the  habit  of  reading 
the  faces  of  women.  Anyway,  be  what  she 
may,  she  is  welcome,  since  she  accompanies 
you."  And  with  serenity  he  added:  "Find 
some  chairs.  And  may  the  Holy  Light  of 
Gautama  be  with  you !" 

Gilbert  brought  three  little  worm-eaten 
benches  which  he  had  found  in  the  cabin, 
not  without  difficulty.  They  had  evidently 
served  as  perches  for  the  hens.  Parvati  and 
the  two  men  sat  in  front  of  the  old  man. 

"My  son,  you  see  in  me,"  continued  the 
thinker,  addressing  himself  particularly  to 
Noel,  "a  man  who,  although  deprived  of  his 
kingdom  and  of  his  riches,  rejoices  in  the  only 
true  happiness  that  this  reincarnation  has  ac- 
corded him.  As  a  king,  I  learned  to  know 
men.  They  are  nothing  but  lies,  intrigue, 
treachery,  treason.  I  who  speak  to  you  now 
have  been,  I  am  still,  the  vilest  of  men.  But 
why  struggle  against  that  which  we  are  un- 
able to  explain?  And  what  is  more,  I  am  con- 
scious of  a  former  state,  when  I 'was  lower 


PAR  VAT  I  237 

and  more  miserable  still.  Therefore,  the 
progress  announced  by  the  Master  is  a  reality. 
Nothing  of  what  is  destined  happens  before  its 
time.  It  is  the  part  of  the  sage  to  be  patient, 
to  await  his  approaching  and  more  nearly  per- 
fect evolution.  But  man  is  ambitious.  He 
is  impatient  to  precipitate  his  development 
without  regard  to  the  normal  advance.  I  was 
a  king;  I  commanded  people  and  armies;  I 
wished  to  dominate  other  men.  And  I  was 
punished  for  it.  I  saw  men  cut  the  throats  of 
my  wives  and  of  my  sons;  I  saw  my  palaces 
burned  and  my  riches  confiscated;  I  saw  my 
titles  abolished.  It  is  the  just  chastisement  of 
my  sins." 

And  he  veiled  his  face,  murmuring:  "Om 
Brahma  kripai  kevolom! — Brahma,  let  thy 
goodness  alone  be  accomplished!" 

He  lapsed  into  silence, 

For  a  few  minutes  his  visitors  respected  it. 
Then  Noel  questioned  the  old  man  about  doc- 
trines that  were  familiar  to  them  both.  The 
sage,  a  subtle  Vedantist,  discussed  at  length  the 
sacred  books  of  the  Upanishads  and  the  Aran- 


238  PARVATI 

yakas.  Together  they  criticized  the  coarse 
dogmas  of  Tantrism,  and  the  depraved  cult 
of  the  Shaktis  of  Shiva.  Gilbert  and  Parvati, 
outside  a  conversation  that  was  incomprehen- 
sible to  them,  smiled  at  each  other  tenderly. 
The  hermit  saw  them.  Interrupting  himself 
in  the  middle  of  a  commentary  upon  the  sixth 
Darshana  of  Hinduism,  and  fixing  them  with 
a  stern  eye,  he  rebuked  them : 

"The  chaste  alone  can  understand  the  divine 
words.  But  it  is  written  in  the  Kamasutra: 
'The  day  when  men  master  the  senses,  the 
Vindhya  Mountains  will  swim  across  the 


ocean.'  " 


The  lovers  looked  at  each  other.  And  both, 
involuntarily,  bowed  their  heads. 

Upon  their  return,  Gilbert  found  on  his 
table  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Williams.  It  was 
dated  yesterday,  and  had  been  sent  from  the 
dispensary  of  Lady  Dufferin  in  Calcutta. 
The  doctor  said  that  everything  had  been  dis- 
covered. The  maharaja  had  sent  secret  emis- 
saries everywhere ;  the  strangling  of  the  senti- 


PARVATI  239 

nels  at  the  prison  had  wrought  up  his  anger  to 
the  highest  pitch.  He  had  sworn  to  take 
prompt  revenge.  India  was  no  longer  safe 
for  the  two  culprits.  It  was- a  question  now  of 
their  lives,  and  she  urged  the  lovers  to  take  the 
earliest  possible  boat  for  Europe. 


VII 

Alas,  the  hero  from  of  old  has  had  to  cramp  himself  into 
strange  shapes :  the  world  knows  not  well  at  any  time  what 
to  do  with  him,  so  foreign  is  his  aspect  in  the  world ! 

— CARLYLE:     "On  Heroes,"  etc. 

\  STRANGER  drew  several  rupees  from 
./A.  his  pocket  and  slipped  them  into  the 
hands  of  the  porter. 

At  the  Great  Eastern  the  guests  had  not  ac- 
customed the  servants  to  expect  large  tips  in 
exchange  for  information.  Anybody  could 
have  access  to  the  bulletin  board  hung  in  the 
hall  of  the  hotel,  where  the  numbers  of  occu- 
pied rooms  were  indicated,  with  the  names  of 
their  occupants.  The  inquirer  had  questioned 
the  porter  narrowly  but  in  so  charming  a  man- 
ner that  the  man  had  to  reply  to  insistent  and 
rather  indiscreet  demands.  The  visitor,  it  is 
true,  had  alleged  that  it  was  a  "matter  relat- 
ing to  a  family  secret."  And  the  interest  of 
the  person  was  involved.  Also,  the  greatest 

possible    discretion    was    necessary.    A    few 

240 


PARVATI  241 

more  rupees  were  urged  upon  the  good  Mala- 
bar. 

Well,  yes!  The  two  rooms  did  communi- 
cate ;  certainly,  there  was  something  odd  about 
that.  Although  he  had  twelve  years  of  serv- 
ice in  Calcutta  to  his  credit,  he  could  not  sup- 
press a  little  cry  of  surprise  when,  this  morn- 
ing, he  saw  the  communicating  door  between 
No.  17  and  No.  18  was  open.  The  rooms  had 
been  given  the  night  before  to  two  travelers 
who  did  not  know  each  other.  Of  course,  no- 
body could  teach  him  anything  about  the 
demi-mondaines  of  the  palaces.  Now  the 
nextdoor  neighbor  of  the  young  Frenchman 
had  never  stopped  at  the  hotel  before. 
Clearly,  however,  she  was  not  a  professional, 
but  a  lady,  and  was  accompanied  by  her  serv- 
ant. 

"You  can  judge  for  yourself,  sir.     Here  she 


is." 


The  unknown  man  quickly  hid  himself  be- 
hind a  pillar  in  the  hall.  This  happened  just 
as  a  very  beautiful  young  woman,  dressed  in 
the  Parsee  costume,  approached,  followed  by 


242  PARVATI 

an  older  woman.  The  action  of  the  stranger 
had  been  prompt,  but  not  prompt  enough  to 
escape  the  new  arrival.  She  grew  suddenly 
pale,  took  her  key  off  its  hook,  and  went  hur- 
riedly to  her  room.  Then,  more  dead  than 
alive,  she  threw  herself  on  the  divan,  murmur- 
ing: 

"Go  quickly,  Madavi.  You  must  find 
him." 

"Where?" 

"In  the  smoking-room.  Hurry!  I  shall 
lock  myself  in,  and  if  they  force  the  door,  they 
will  not  find  me  alive." 

She  held  in  her  hand  a  little  oval-shaped 
amber-colored  bottle  adorned  with  brilliants 
and  gold  tracery.  Her  eyes  were  shining  with 
excitement.  Her  breath  came  and  went  rap- 
idly. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  painter  had  joined  her. 

"You  are  here,  at  last!"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
save  me,  my  darling  1  You  are  all  that  I  have 
in  the  world.  I  am  followed,  tracked  down 
like  an  animal.  A  little  while  ago  in  the  street 
I  was  stared  at  by  two  individuals  dressed  as 


PARVATI  243 

policemen.  Just  now  I  was  narrowly  watched 
by  a  third,  who  hid  himself  back  of  a  pillar  in 
the  hall.  Oh!  I  am  lost,  lost!" 

She  was  sobbing  now.  Gilbert  took  her 
head  in  his  hands,  the  dear  head  into  whose 
deep  eyes  he  loved  to  gaze.  He  kissed  away 
her  tears.  He  had  taken  her  on  his  knee  and 
was  now  comforting  her  with  affectionate 
words.  She  instinctively  took  refuge  in  his 
arms,  the  only  shelter  left  to  her.  She  had  a 
presentiment  of  the  power  in  this  man.  He 
protected  her  as  one  would  a  little  child,  and 
this  was  new  to  her.  Her  mother  had  died 
when  she  was  very  young,  so  that  she  had  never 
had  the  sense  of  sheltering  arms. 

"Oh,  keep  me  safe  with  you!"  she  repeated. 
"I  need  to  be  consoled,  to  be  petted  and  made 
much  of.  Who  taught  you  pity?  Nobody 
has  ever  talked  to  me  as  you  have  just  done! 
I  knew  nothing  about  love  when  I  came  to  you. 
Sometimes  I  feel  like  opening  this  window 
and  going  out  on  the  balcony  and  telling  every- 
body, 'Well,  yes,  it  is  I!  Look  at  me!  I  am 
Parvati,  the  Maharanee  of  Jeypore.  And 


244  PARVATI 

here  is  my  lover.  I  love  him  and  he  loves  me. 
We  are  not  afraid  of  any  of  you!'  Tell  me, 
my  Gilbert,  shall  we  do  that?  I  am  not 
afraid,  you  know.  And  it  would  be  so  funny, 
so  funny!" 

She  laughed  merrily.  Her  face  was  re- 
laxed, all  the  tension  was  gone.  And  Gilbert, 
big  child  that  he  was,  had  caught  her  enthusi- 
asm. The  lilt  of  her  laughter  was  contagious. 

"My  word!"  cried  the  philosopher,  discon- 
certed by  the  gaiety  of  his  friends.  "You  are 
impossible!  Death  lurks  all  around  you, 
traps  are  being  laid  for  you,  you  are  caught  in 
an  inextricable  net,  and  you  laugh!  You 
think  of  nothing  but  your  love;  but,  unfortu- 
nate souls  that  you  are,  you  don't  know  what  I 
have  learned  from  Mrs.  Williams.  I  saw 
her,  at  last,  at  the  dispensary.  Cheerful  news 
I  have  for  you !  You  had  better  laugh !" 

There  was  a  serious  tone  in  his  affectionate 
voice.  His  face  was  drawn  with  pain.  The 
doctor  reported  that  the  maharaja  had  sent 
spies  everywhere.  A  trap  had  been  laid  and 
there  seemed  to  be  no  way  of  escape. 


PARVATI  245 

"Well,  let  then  come!"  said  Gilbert,  coldly. 
"They  will  take  us  together." 

"Yes,  together,"  confirmed  Parvati,  nestling 
closer  to  her  lover.  "We  will  never,  never 
leave  each  other,  Gilbert." 

"But,  my  poor  friends,"  continued  Noel, 
"you  don't  realize  what  is  before  you.  Grant- 
ing that  the  government  of  the  viceroy  is  will- 
ing to  let  you  alone,  the  millions  of  subjects  of 
Bhagavat  Singh  will  track  you  down.  I  tell 
you,  there  's  only  one  thing  to  do — fly  for  your 
lives.  I  have  taken  it  upon  myself  to  arrange 
for  this  without  consulting  you.  I  have  just 
left  Cook's  office.  Two  steamers  leave  this 
evening,  one  for  Rangoon  and  Singapore,  the 
other,  a  French  boat,  for  Pondicherry  and 
Colombo.  Make  your  choice.  I  have  re- 
served places  on  both  in  the  hope  of  putting 
them  off  the  track.  I  have  hired  an  automo- 
bile. It  will  be  waiting  for  you  in  the  inner 
court  of  the  hotel  and  will  take  you  to  the 
quay.  Once  on  board,  you  must  not  leave 
your  state-rooms  before  the  steamer  sails.  As 
for  me,  I  shall  stay  here  a  few  days  after  your 


246  PARVATI 

departure.  To  outwit  the  police,  I  have 
bribed  some  one  to  be  disguised  as  Parvati. — 
She  is  about  your  size  and  looks  like  you.— 
This  is  my  affair.  If  it  is  necessary,  I  will 
play  the  role  of  lover — your  role,  Gilbert — al- 
though that  is  hardly  in  my  line.  Come, 
which  is  it:  Birmania  or  Ceylon?" 

"Oh,  Noel,  you  are  really  my  brother!" 
cried  Desroches. 

Parvati  was  standing  now.  Her  face  shone 
with  joy  and  gratitude.  She  recognized  the 
efficiency,  the  heroism  of  Verdier.  But  she 
protested  against  the  sacrifices.  Were  they 
not  unburdening  their  problem  upon  him? 
No!  she  could  not  consent  to  such  cowardice 
on  their  part,  such  a  risk  on  his. 

"But  if  I  insist?"  said  Noel.  "I  tell  you  it 
is  the  only  way  to  save  Gilbert.  His  danger 
is  as  great  as  yours.  I  shall  be  all  right;  don't 
worry  about  me.  Once  you  are  gone,  I  shall 
drop  my  mask.  They  can  do  nothing  to  me. 
I,  too,  have  friends  in  India — powerful,  secret 
friends,  who  will  protect  me.  But  for  the 
present,  we  must  play  our  roles.  Do  as  I  say. 


PARVATI  247 

I  repeat,  in  saving  yourself,  Parvati,  you  are 
saving  Gilbert." 

She  was  still  wavering,  but  Gilbert  made 
the  decision. 

"We  accept,"  said  he.  "Friendship  alone, 
friendship  that  performs  miracles,  can  save  us 
from  our  enemies.  Promise  me,  Noel,  that 
you  will  telegraph  us  at  Pondicherry,  and  that 
you  will  join  us  at  Ceylon  as  soon  as  the  Con- 
gress at  Madras  is  over.  If  you  do  that,  we 
will  sail  to-night." 

They  agreed  to  everything  Noel  suggested. 
They  were  all  beaming  with  happiness. 
They  arranged  a  telegraphic  code.  Then, 
after  charging  Gilbert  to  remain  in  his  bed- 
room, and  advising  Parvati  to  exchange  her 
Parsee  costume  for  a  plain  dark  traveling-suit, 
European  style,  he  left  them. 

Pulleys  groaned,  cables  grew  taut,  a  warn- 
ing bell  was  ringing.  The  siren  shrieked: 
three  long  wails  tore  the  air.  Then  slowly 
the  Himalaya,  bearing  on  her  prow  the  enig- 
matic figurehead  of  the  Messageries  Man- 


248  PARVATI 

times,  moved  through  the  brown  waters  of  the 
Ganges.  The  flat  river  banks  slipped  away 
behind  the  ship.  A  few  first-class  passengers 
stood  on  the  deck  for  the  last  view  of  Calcutta. 

The  doors  of  two  cabins  opened  simultane- 
ously, revealing  two  passengers,  a  man  and  a 
woman,  both  young  and  smiling. 

"Madavi!"  It  was  a  woman's  voice  speak- 
ing. A  Hindu  woman  hurried  along  the  cor- 
ridor. "My  green  scarf." 

"Green,  the  color  of  hope,"  said  a  man's 
voice,  vibrant  with  happiness.  Then  in  a 
softer  tone,  with  a  touch  of  sadness,  "Poor 
Noel!" 


VIII 

\ 

Kali  is  Time.     She  devours  all  things. 

— JULES  Bois:  Visions  de  I'Inde. 

IT  would  soon  be  a  month  since  the  lovers 
had  taken  refuge  in  Pondicherry.  A  let- 
ter from  Mrs.  Williams,  forwarded  by  Noel, 
said  that  the  enemy  seemed  to  have  made  a 
truce.  The  influence  of  the  favorite  was  in- 
creasing in  Jeypore.  To  the  surprise  of 
everybody,  Djalina  was  pregnant.  This  cre- 
ated a  great  stir.  People  talked  of  nothing 
but  her  approaching  coronation.  She  was  to 
be  the  maharanee.  No  one  spoke  of  Parvati. 
If  by  chance  her  name  was  mentioned,  the 
person  was  warned  not  to  do  it  again. 

For  Parvati  and  Gilbert  a  veil  had  fallen 
over  the  past.  They  were  indifferent  to  their 
surroundings.  Neither  "Pondy,"  a  dead 
provincial  city,  nor  its  population,  tempted 
their  curiosity.  For  them  the  universe  was 

limited  to  this  little  house  hidden  in  palm 

249 


250  PARVATI 

trees.  Gilbert  had  had  the  good  fortune  to 
find  it. 

It  was  a  little  house  decorated  in  the  style 
of  the  century  of  the  Pompadour.  The  fur- 
nishing of  the  bedroom  especially  was  char- 
acteristic. Parvati  amused  herself,  one  morn- 
ing, putting  up  her  hair  a  la  Pompadour, 
powdering  it  lavishly,  and  adding  a  patch  of 
black  court-plaster  on  her  dainty  chin.  Then, 
walking  on  tiptoes,  and  holding  her  breath, 
she  went  to  surprise  Gilbert  in  his  studio. 

"See,"  she  said,  peeping  through  the  cur- 
tains, "I  am  Madame  Dupleix." 

And  she  danced  the  minuet.  How  they 
laughed!  She  had  never  been  so  gay.  Gil- 
bert gathered  her  into  his  arms  like  a  little 
child,  and  put  her  down  on  the  sofa. 

"Now,  then,  Madame  Dupleix,  be  good 
enough  to  keep  still  for  five  minutes.  I  must 
get  in  a  few  touches — just  a  few  corrections, 
on  the  right  hand." 

"Gladly,  Monsieur  Watteau,  but  on  one 
condition." 

"And  that  is?" 


PARVATI  251 

"That  you  kiss  me  before  and  after." 

"Before — yes.  But  after — we  '11  see.  It 
depends  on  how  good  you  are." 

After  five  minutes  the  painter  more  than  ful- 
filled his  promise. 

"And  now,  Madame  Dupleix,  run  away  and 
take  off  that  white  powder.  And  then  come 
back  to  me,  because  I  love  you." 

She  made  her  escape  with  peals  of  merry 
laughter,  her  little  slippers  tapping  on  the  pol- 
ished floor. 

Noel's  letter  of  this  morning  was  explicit. 
The  philosopher  told  the  lovers  of  his  plans. 
Now  that  the  congress  was  over,  he  insisted 
that  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  leave  Pondi- 
cherry.  They  must  all  three  go  to  Colombo 
without  delay,  and  then  to  France.  There, 
alone,  could  they  be  really  safe.  There,  alone, 
could  they  face  a  happy  future.  Perhaps  the 
spirit-of  revenge  was  sleeping  in  the  maharaja, 
but  his  minister  was  on  the  watch.  Since  the 
coronation  of  Djalina,  the  popularity  of  the 
dewan  had  been  steadily  increasing.  From 
him  they  had  everything  to  fear.  As  for  the 


252  PARVATI 

high  priest,  Khoudarsha,  he  appeared  less 
dangerous.  It  was  said  that  he  had  gone  on  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  temples  of  Coromandel  and 
Malabar.  At  Jeypore  there  was  no  news  of 
him. 

Gilbert  reread  Noel's  letter.  Madavi  had 
brought  it  to  him  with  the  breakfast.  He 
frowned.  It  would  be  hard  to  break  the  news 
to  Parvati.  Their  time  at  Pondy  had  been 
sweet,  fugitive.  But  he  dared  not  disobey  his 
friend.  They  must  go. 

Parvati  was  still  sleeping.  She  lay  there  in 
the  big  bed,  her  breath  coming  and  going  with 
soft  regularity.  She  had  the  serene  expres- 
sion of  a  slumbering  child.  When  Gilbert 
pushed  back  the  mosquito-netting  she  half 
opened  her  eyes  and  smiled. 

"Up  already!" 

"Yes,  yes!"  said  he.  "We  must  dress 
quickly  and  get  ready." 

An  expression  of  surprise  and  disquiet 
arched  her  eyebrows.  Gilbert  handed  her 
the  envelop  bearing  the  postmark  of  Madras. 

"Here,  read  this,  little  queen." 


PAR  VAT  I  253 

Rubbing  her  eyes  and  stretching  to  make 
sure  she  was  n't  dreaming,  she  took  the  letter 
and  read  it  feverishly.  As  she  gradually  un- 
derstood the  plan  as  developed  by  Noel,  the 
plan  urging  them  to  meet  the  day  after  to- 
morrow at  the  station  in  Madura,  her  face  ex- 
pressed a  protest.  Finally  she  burst  into  tears. 

"Go  away?  already!"  she  complained. 
"Ah,  destiny  pursues  us !  There  was  too  much 
joy  and  peace.  We  Ve  been  crazy.  The  day 
had  to  come  when  we  should  be  wanderers 
again."  Then  nestling  to  him,  she  spoke  in  a 
lower  tone:  "You  see,  Gilbert,  I  'm  afraid — 
afraid  of  the  unknown,  afraid  of  to-morrow. 
Stay  here — oh,  stay  here!  Telegraph  Noel  to 
join  us.  One  month  more;  that  is  all  I  ask, 
only  one  month  more!  We  will  take  the  next 
Messagerie  steamer.  We  must  not  go  now;  it 
would  bring  bad  luck,"  she  pleaded. 

Desroches  tried  to  laugh  away  her  blues. 
Why  should  they  be  anxious  over  so  short  a 
journey?  A  few  hours  spent  in  Madura  be- 
fore sailing  for  Tuticorin  could  not  upset  a 
couple  of  tourists  like  them.  Noel  would 


254  PARVATI 

have  arranged  everything.  Had  he  not  man- 
aged well,  so  far?  Was  it  not  thanks  to  his 
initiative  that  they  had  been  able  to  get  away 
from  Calcutta?  No,  no,  they  must  trust  Noel. 
Happy  days  were  coming,  happiness  that 
would  last  always,  when  they  could  settle 
down  in  his  house  at  Auteuil.  There  she 
would  always  be  a  queen. 

"Auteuil!  Auteuil!"  she  said  to  herself. 
Would  they  ever  be  as  happy  there  as  in 
Pondy? 

They  followed  Verdier's  instructions  to  the 
letter.  Their  departure  from  Pondicherry 
the  next  morning  aroused  no  suspicion. 
Good  Mademoiselle  de  Cloud,  their  landlady, 
was  sorry  to  lose  the  lovers.  She  attended  to 
their  baggage  herself,  and  accompanied  Gil- 
bert and  Parvati  from  Pondy  to  Villupuram, 
where  they  changed  cars  for  Madura. 

There  Desroches  engaged  a  room  on  the  sec- 
ond floor  of  the  station  hotel.  There  was 
only  one  night  to  pass  before  the  arrival  of 
Noel. 

After  checking  their  baggage,  they  decided 


PARVATI  255 

to  put  off  seeing  Madura  until  the  next  morn- 
ing. To-day  they  would  drive  to  Teppa- 
Kulam  to  see  the  temple  and  the  sacred  lake. 

The  city  and  its  suburbs  were  animated,  and 
the  streets  were  full  of  people.  The  symbolic 
marriage  of  Shiva  and  Minakshi  had  been 
celebrated  the  night  before.  This  is  done 
every  year,  in  the  month  of  April.  The  cere- 
mony had  taken  place,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom, in  the  gallery  of  the  Prakaram.  There, 
under  a  canopy  made  of  gilded  paper,  the 
Brahmans  and  the  students  of  Sanskrit  had  in- 
toned their  chants.  With  the  accompaniment 
of  tom-toms  and  shrill  flutes  the  emblematic 
union  had  been  sung.  Then  the  procession 
moved  to  an  adjacent  gallery,  to  make  offer- 
ings before  Shiva  and  Minakshi.  This  even- 
ing all  Madura  was  celebrating.  They  would 
bring  out  the  chariots  upon  which  the  idols 
were  to  be  placed  and  solemnly  drawn  through 
the  streets.  The  procession,  with  its  flaring 
torch-lights,  would  proceed  from  the  temple 
to  the  main  streets  of  the  city.  Men,  women, 
and  children  would  have  their  arms  filled 


256  PARVATI 

with  flowers.  Boys  with  their  heads  shaven 
at  the  crown  and  their  hair  braided  in  the 
Chinese  fashion  would  contend  for  the  pos- 
session of  necklaces  and  wreaths  of  flowers. 
Little  girls,  naked  save  for  fringed  girdles, 
would  -be  crowned  with  carnation  wreaths. 
Proud  young  girls,  with  faces  and  necks  and 
hands  stained  yellow  with  the  juice  of  herbs, 
moved  here  and  there.  Some  were  bargain- 
ing with  squatting  perfumers  for  paste,  un- 
gents,  and  cosmetics.  Others  bought  sherbet 
with  floating  slices  of  pineapple  in  it.  Above 
the  roofs  eagles  turned  and  screamed. 

"Ei!    Einipof    Lookout!" 

The  coachman  cracked  his  whip  as  the  in- 
quisitive crowd  approached  to  gaze  at  the  for- 
eign sahibs.  The  carriage  left  the  city  now 
and  entered  a  dark,  shady  avenue.  Gilbert 
and  Parvati,  nestling  close  to  each  other,  gave 
themselves  up  to  a  mute  contemplation  of  the 
tropical  scenery  to  which  to-morrow  they  must 
say  good-by  forever.  They  spoke  very  little — 
only  when  a  new  sight  interested  them:  nuts 
being  bruised  for  the  extraction  of  oil,  cocoa- 


PARVATI  257 

nuts  sliced  for  drying,  or  rice  being  sorted. 

"Sikaraml     Faster,  f  aster  !f' 

The  horses  trotted  along  briskly.  Des- 
roches  wished  to  make  a  few  sketches  before 
sundown.  Beggars  waiting  for  their  bakshish 
appealed  to  him  as  paintable. 

As  they  rounded  a  clump  of  bamboo,  both 
exclaimed  in  admiration.  Teppa-Kulam,  the 
sacred  island,  was  before  them,  and  upon  it 
a  marble  pagoda  fringed  with  verdure  and 
palms.  The  central  tower,  with  its  five  stories 
of  bas-reliefs  topped  with  a  cupola,  and  the 
four  pavilions  at  the  corners,  were  reflected 
in  trembling  white  water.  The  calm  of  this 
vision  of  another  world  was  disturbed  only 
when  century-old  carp  showed  diamond  fins 
above  the  surface  of  the  water. 

After  making  a  tour  around  the  lake,  the 
carriage  stopped  before  a  low  building  made 
of  marble,  red  and  white  like  the  border  of  the 
pond.  A  diminutive,  pyramidal  clock-tower 
surmounting  it,  recalled  the  Temple  of  Subra- 
manya  at  Tanjore.  There  were  no  windows, 
unless  you  count  a  narrow  airhole  lugubriously 


258  PARVATI 

grilled,  like  the  window  of  a  prison.  The 
porch  was  dark.  It  looked  more  like  the  en- 
trance to  a  wild  animal's  lair  than  the  thresh- 
old of  a  monument  fashioned  by  human  hands. 
But  what  attracted  the  eye  was  the  incredible 
profusion  of  female  statuettes,  in  compact 
rows  on  the  roof.  It  was  a  veritable  army  of 
earthen  dolls  with  clasped  hands,  and  eyes  of 
vermilion.  Their  expression  was  uniformly 
terrible. 

"This  is  extraordinary!"  cried  Gilbert. 

"Our  Mother  Kali's  house,"  murmured  the 
driver  fearfully,  under  his  breath. 

Parvati  trembled.  She  remembered  the  in- 
struction she  had  received  in  childhood,  how 
the  Brahmans  of  Guzerat  had  secretly  initi- 
ated her  in  the  rites  of  the  frightful  ogress. 
A  horrible  memory  came  to  her  of  a  new-born 
babe  sacrificed  by  a  white-bearded  priest,  the 
altar  bathed  in  blood,  the  delirium  of  specta- 
tors in  the  prey  of  furious  fanaticism.  She 
saw  again  the  little  heart  of  the  innocent  vic- 
tim held  aloft  in  the  clawlike  hand  of  the 
priest. 


PARVATI  259 

They  entered  the  cavern,  wondering  if  they 
could  get  out  again.  The  coachman,  who  had 
left  his  horses  under  some  sycamore  trees,  had 
obligingly  offered  to  serve  as  guide.  They 
learned  from  him  that,  thanks  to  the  energetic 
intervention  of  the  British  Government,  child 
sacrifices  have  become  very  rare,  the  little  vic- 
tims being  replaced  by  lambs  or  goats.  The 
fresh  blood  and  the  cries  of  the  dying  creatures 
are  pleasing  to  the  goddess.  In  the  jungle, 
however,  and  in  certain  subterranean  temples, 
the  Hindu  assured  them  that  human  sacrifices 
still  occur.  Mothers  still  push  their  fanati- 
cism so  far  as  to  be  able  to  deliver  their  own 
children  to  the  priests. 

Parvati  and  Gilbert  breathed  more  freely 
when  they  had  come  away  from  the  altar. 
Desroches  had  chanced  to  meet  a  fakir  shod  in 
hobnail  clouts.  The  man  was  going  on  foot 
to  the  seven  pagodas  of  Madras.  In  exchange 
for  a  little  money  the  pilgrim,  a  voluntary 
martyr,  consented  to  pose. 

Parvati,  who  wished  to  see  the  other  side  of 
the  temple,  had  gone  along  with  the  guide. 


26o  PARVATI 

They  made  the  tour  of  the  edifice,  and  pene- 
trated a  little  alley,  where  twenty  natives 
formed  a  ring  around  a  blind  dancer.  Par- 
vati's  curiosity  made  her  try  to  talk  with  them, 
but  she  soon  had  to  give  it  up,  for  the  Tamil 
language  is  totally  different  from  the  Hin- 
dustani. 

"What  are  they  saying?"  she  asked  her 
guide  in  English. 

"They  are  consulting  her,  and  she  answers 
them." 

"On  what  subject?" 

"She  knows  the  future." 

"How  is  that?     She  is  blind!" 

"She  sees  with  her  hands,  by  touching  the 
face.  She  has  announced  strange  things  that 
came  true."  And  solemnly  the  man  added: 
"Vishnu  speaks  through  her  mouth.  We  re- 
spect her.  She  is  a  saint." 

The  dancer  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  a  wall. 
She  was  speaking.  In  spite  of  her  great  age, 
the  vestal  guardian  of  the  temple  wore  the 
classic  costume  of  her  profession:  a  choli,  a 
sort  of  jacket  with  short  sleeves,  satin  bloomers, 


PARVATI  261 

a  bodice  of  muslin  held  in  with  a  sash,  and 
clinking  gold  amulets.  She  was  telling  the 
fortune  of  a  young  man.  He  knelt  before  her, 
submitting  with  good  grace  to  her  facial  mas- 
sage. 

"A  good  nose — a  little  long,"  she  said,  "but 
firm.  You  will  marry  the  daughter  of  an  inn- 
keeper. I  see  her.  She  is  plump,  with  big 
feet.  You  will  be  rich.  Many  children. 
But  she  will  make  you  unhappy,  for  she  has  a 
bad  disposition." 

"Very  well  I  I  will  beat  her,"  said  the 
young  man,  with  resolution. 

Shouts  of  laughter.  The  old  woman  con- 
tinued, stroking  the  cheeks  of  her  patient: 

"Ah!  ah!  you  are  tough-skinned.  What  a 
jaw!  You  will  live  longer  than  she;  but  you 
will  grow  thin." 

Laughter  again  from  the  crowd. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me?"  inquired 
Parvati.  Little  by  little,  she  had  advanced  to 
the  first  row.  "Can  you  tell  me— 

"Kneel  down,"  commanded  the  prophetess. 

Her  rough  hands  felt  the  satin  skin  of  the 


262  PARVATI 

princess.  Contact  with  its  fine,  aristocratic 
texture  made  her  tremble. 

"You  are  noble,  beautiful!  Loved,  very 
much  loved!  And  you  love,  too!" 

She  wrinkled  her  eyebrows. 

"You  have  suffered,  suffered  a  great  deal! 
You  have  wept.  But  now  you  are  happy." 
The  hand  slipped  from  the  temple  to  the  ear. 
The  blind  woman  started,  and  uttered  a  cry. 
"Ah!  the  ears!  Beware  of  the  itediki,  my 
daughter !  It  will  betray  you ;  and  through  it, 
you  will  meet  great  peril!" 

"The  itediki?"  chaffed  Parvati,  upon  whom 
the  unusual  prophecy  of  the  old  woman  made 
little  impression.  "But  I  don't  wear  them, 
and  probably  never  shall.  Look!" 

And  to  the  silent  onlookers  she  showed  her 
ears,  innocent  of  rings  or  pendants. 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head. 

"That  does  n't  matter!"  she  went  on.  "Be- 
ware of  the  itediki!  Beware!"  And  sud- 
denly, her  face  grown  grave,  she  closed  her 
lips,  and  would  say  nothing  more. 


IX      - 

From  the  dark  depths  of  the  temple,  distant  music 
comes  to  me,  while  my  hands  are  rilled  with  strange  treas- 
ure :  rolling  of  tom-toms,  the  plaint  of  sacred  conches,  and 
bagpipes. 

— PIERRE  LOTI:  Ulnde  sans  les  Anglais. 

A  FREIGHT-TRAIN  bound  for  Tuti- 
-^A.  corin  passed  whistling  through  the  sta- 
tion. In  the  distance,  among  the  palms,  the 
lights  of  Madura  gleamed  and  twinkled. 

From  the  platform  Gilbert  and  Parvati 
watched  it  disappear  into  the  night.  For  a 
long  time  their  eyes  followed  the  little  lantern 
at  the  rear  of  the  last  car.  The  train  was 
moving  southward — to  the  South,  where  they 
would  be  to-morrow,  sheltered  from  persecu- 
tion and  on  the  way  to  sure  happiness. 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  painter,  tenderly. 
"Do  you  know  where  we  shall  be  to-morrow, 
little  queen?  Oh!  When  I  think  that  we 
shall  have  left  your  country,  that  with  Noel 

263 


264  PARVATI 

we  shall  be  floating  far  out  in  the  Gulf  of  Man- 
naar  toward  Ceylon,  the  enchantress — when  I 
think  of  all  that,  my  heart  thumps  as  if  it 
would  break!" 

"Who  knows!"  she  murmured.  And  she 
added,  half  seriously,  half  laughingly:  "Lis- 
ten, darling:  do  you  want  to  please  me? 
There  is  something  I  have  wanted  to  ask  you 
for  a  long  time.  Until  now  I  have  not  dared 
to  speak  of  it,  for  fear  of  saddening  you.  We 
are  not  immortal,  alas!  And  the  hour  will 
sound,  one  day,  when  we  must  return  to  the 
earth.  If  I  die  before  you — " 

"Oh!  don't  say  that!"  protested  Gilbert, 
grief-stricken.  "Why  have  dark  thoughts 
when  we  are  about  to  find  freedom?" 

"Let  me  finish,  Gilbert.  Call  it  a  caprice  if 
you  like,  but  it  is  a  caprice  that  is  dear  to  me. 
If  I  should  happen  to  die  before  you,  prom- 
ise me,  swear  to  me  that  you  will  carry  out  my 


vows." 


"Please,  darling!" 

"However  I  may  have  sinned  against  our 
gods  and  the  sacred  Brahman  faith,  I  remem- 


PAR  VAT  I  265 

her  my  origin  and  what  I  owe  to  my  ancestors. 
If  I  die—" 

"But  you  know  well  enough  I  could  not  sur- 
vive you!" 

"But  you  must,  if  you  love  me.  The  being 
I  adore  here  below  must  fulfil  my  supreme 
vows,  my  last  request." 

Her  tense  voice,  with  its  soft  caressing  in- 
flections, implied  a  command. 

"I  desire  that  my  body  be  placed  upon  a 
pyre,  and  cremated  according  to  the  rites  of 
my  race.  But,  as  I  recognize  that  my  remains 
are  unworthy  to  be  mingled  with  the  sacred 
waters  of  our  Father  Ganges,  or  our  Mother 
Jumna,  you  will  scatter  my  ashes  to  the  four 
winds  of  heaven  without  preserving  a  particle. 
There!  swear,  if  you  love  me!" 

"It  is  childish,  my  sweetheart!" 

"One  more  reason  for  satisfying  me." 

"Well,  then,  I  swear  it.  But  you  must  be 
good  enough  to  chase  these  ideas  out  of  your 
brain;  they  will  only  spoil  our  last  evening  in 
India." 

Happy  now,  as  if  relieved  of  a  care  that  had 


266  PARVATI 

weighed  upon  her,  she  smiled  at  her  lover  as 
he  pressed  her  to  him  passionately.  They 
went  up  the  little  wooden  staircase  and  sat 
down  side  by  side  on  the  terrace.  Desroches 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  before  they  slept  they 
drank  deeply  of  the  infinite  calm  of  the  tropi- 
cal night. 

At  their  feet  the  country  lay  vibrant  with 
the  violin-like  music  of  crickets — a  symphony 
full  of  the  tremolo  that  sang  of  the  joy  of  liv- 
ing. 

In  the  distance,  beyond  black  sycamore 
trees,  yellow  torches  flared.  Sounding  tom- 
toms and  gongs  preluded  the  nocturnal  proces- 
sion which  in  a  few  hours  would  bring  thou- 
sands of  fanatics  to  their  knees,  or  under  the 
wheels  of  chariots. 

Desroches  arose,  suppressing  a  yawn. 

"Are  you  coming?"  said  he.     "It  is  late." 

"A  little  longer,"  she  begged.  "It  is  our 
last  evening  in  India;  you  said  so  yourself, 
a  while  ago.  I  love  this  marvelous  night. 
And,  then,  Madavi  has  not  come  back  yet. 


PARVATI  267 

You  go  along;  I  will  wait  for  her  to  undress 


me." 


He  kissed  her  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  She 
trembled.  His  caress  always  stirred  her. 

Left  alone,  she  leaned  back  in  her  rocking- 
chair,  her  nostrils  dilated  with  the  night  air. 
The  odor  of  cocoanut,  and  the  damp,  sweet 
smell  of  the  turf  told  of  the  prodigious  rich- 
ness of  this  earth,  recalled  to  her  evenings  in 
early  childhood  when  she  used  to  play  in  the 
mountains  of  Guzerat.  She  loved  the  dank 
aroma  of  burning  brush,  to  which  Europeans 
can  never  become  accustomed.  Everything 
conspired  this  evening  to  evoke  in  her  regret 
for  the  past,  and  for  the  present  to  which  to- 
morrow she  must  say  good-by  without  hope  of 
return.  The  minutes  slipped  by.  Then  an 
hour. 

In  the  distance,  the  sacred  fete — turbulent, 
popular — was  being  organized  in  the  darkness 
of  a  propitious  night.  And  Parvati  pondered. 
A  mad,  irresistible  desire  seized  her  to  mingle 
with  the  crowd.  She  wanted  to  see  the  ele- 


268  PARVATI 

phants,  and  hear  the  chanting  of  the  priests. 
Oh!  it  would  be  good  to  be  lost  for  once,  for- 
gotten in  this  wave  of  humanity,  jostling  el- 
bows with  these  bronzed  people  1  After  all, 
they  were  her  brothers.  Yes,  to  share  the 
ecstatic  joy  of  the  faithful,  to  follow  them,  to 
prostrate  herself  before  the  sacred  symbols,  the 
crude  fetishes  that  -were  naive,  no  doubt,  but 
whose  tangible  form  veiled  the  highest  of 
philosophies. 

The  sound  of  steps  was  heard.  It  was  Ma- 
davi  who  was  coming  up. 

"How  late  you  are,  my  nurse!" 

"Oh!  if  you  knew,"  replied  the  Hindu 
woman,  panting,  "if  you  knew  how  fast  I  ran, 
all  the  way  from  the  temple!  But  I  wanted 
to  see.  It  is  magnificent.  The  procession 
was  forming — more  than  five  thousand  Brah- 
mans.  There  are  twenty  elephants,  and  ban- 
ners, and  torches,  and  music.  The  treasures 
of  the  goddess  are  on  view.  The  priests  have 
placed  them  in  the  gallery  of  the  Prakaram. 
You  cannot  imagine  the  beauty  of  it  all.  It  is 
enough  to  dazzle  your  eyes." 


PARVATI  269 

"Really!"  said  Parvati,  suddenly  interested. 
"You  saw  the  jewels?" 

The  old  woman  nodded  her  head.  Her 
eyes  shone.  "Gold,  diamonds,  rubies,  emer- 
alds, turquoises,  and  pearls!  The  ransom  of 
all  India — if  she  wished  to  shake  herself  free 
from  the  foreigner!" 

"Oh!  how  I  should  love  to  see  it!"  mur- 
mured Parvati. 

Her  heart  beat  quickly.  There  was  hum- 
ming in  her  ears.  Eagerness  brought  the 
color  to  her  satin  cheeks. 

"Listen,  Madavi,"  she  went  on.  "If  you  're 
willing,  perhaps  we  could  go  back  there  to- 
gether? Just  for  an  hour!  We  could  put  on 
veils.  Gilbert  is  in  bed;  he  is  asleep.  He 
would  not  know  we  had  gone.  Tell  me,  will 
you?" 

The  nurse  hesitated.  A  sense  of  responsi- 
bility frightened  her  a  little.  Was  it  not  folly 
to  go  about  alone  in  the  night  among  these 
fanatics,  to  expose  themselves  to  the  bustling 
crowd?  They  might  be  hurt,  even  trampled 
upon!  And,  then,  Parvati  might  be  recog- 


270  PAR  VAT  I 

nized,  denounced,  captured.  That  was  too 
great  a  price  to  pay  for  a  few  minutes  of  pleas- 
ure. It  called  for  reflection. 

But,  with  pretty  obstinacy,  the  princess  came 
back  to  her  idea. 

"For  one  thing,"  she  declared,  "we  must  be 
prudent.  We  will  keep  away  from  the  densest 
part  of  the  crowd.  As  for  our  being  recog- 
nized behind  our  Persian  veils,  I  defy  any- 
body!" 

And  then  with  a  little  mocking  laugh, 
pointing  to  her  ears,  she  added:  "Don't  be 
afraid,  nurse.  As  long  as  my  ears  are  inno- 
cent of  pendants,  no  danger  can  threaten  me. 
The  fortune-teller  told  me  that  yesterday  at 
Teppa-Kulam.  It  is  by  the  itediki  that  I 
shall  die.  And,  as  I  am  not  wearing  any,  I 
am  immortal.  Do  you  see?  Now,  then, 
come!  We  must  hurry!" 

When  the  two  women  left  the  station,  Des- 
roches  was  sleeping  soundly  under  his  mos- 
quito-net. As  a  measure  of  precaution,  and  so 
that  he  should  not  worry  about  their  short  ab- 


PARVATI  271 

sence,  Parvati  had  pinned  a  note  to  the  net- 
ting. The  few  scrawled  words  would  calm 
Gilbert  if  he  should  waken  and  miss  them. 

They  hurried  downstairs.  The  station  plat- 
form was  almost  deserted.  One  of  the  em- 
ployees, a  watchman  at  a  switch,  looked  at 
them  with  indifference  as  they  passed  him. 
They  found  an  exit  through  a  door  that  had 
only  to  be  pushed  softly  to  make  it  open.  In 
the  square,  with  the  same  spontaneous  gesture, 
they  lowered  their  veils.  Dressed  in  the  In- 
dian costume  and  with  their  faces  hidden  from 
indiscreet  eyes,  they  could  mingle  with  the 
crowd  without  risking  anything. 

They  took  the  avenue  called  Permal-Kohil. 
It  was  a  wide  highway  leading  to  the  lake  of 
the  same  name.  On  their  way  they  passed  the 
church  belonging  to  the  Catholic  Mission.  It 
was  the  rich  Brahman  quarter.  Parvati  and 
Madavi  hurriedly  traversed  the  street  called 
Massis,  which  cuts  the  avenue  Permal-Kohil 
at  right  angles.  A  fountain  is  erected  there, 
the  gift  of  a  rich  lady  of  Madura.  The 


272  PARVATI 

monument  depicts  the  gods  Subramanya  and 
Ganesha  beside  Minakshi,  together  with  their 
symbols. 

When  they  reached  the  street  of  the  West- 
ern Tower,  at  the  end  of  which  rises  the  first 
wing  of  the  temple,  their  eyes  were  attracted 
toward  a  troop  of  Nirvanists  grouped  around 
a  little  votive  altar  dedicated  to  Shiva. 

The  fanatic  followers  of  Kali  were  bathing 
the  altar  with  blood,  the  altar  that  had  been 
previously  decorated  by  the  women  with  inter- 
laced garlands  of  jasmine  and  carnations. 
Several  of  these  Nirvanists  had  had  their 
cheeks  newly  slashed  with  sabers.  Others  had 
little  steel  darts  sticking  in  the  muscles  of 
their  backs.  Horrible  torn  places  in  the  flesh 
marked  where  more  darts  had  been.  Par- 
vati  turned  away  in  disgust.  Crossing  the 
porch  of  the  Western  Tower,  they  left  behind 
them  the  row  of  sycamore  trees  that  outlined 
the  first  court  of  the  temple,  a  court  decorated 
with  the  colors  of  Vishnu.  Then  they  fol- 
lowed an  alley  planted  with  banana  trees,  and 
leading  to  the  southern  gate.  The  gate  was 


PARVATI  273 

flanked  by  two  colossal  stone  elephants. 
Crowds  of  people  had  already  found  places 
upon  the  terraced  steps  around  the  lotus  pond. 
Red  and  white  lights  illuminated  the  palms; 
and  above  all  was  the  silvery  moonlight. 

There  was  a  surging  throng  around  the  en- 
trance of  Peret  Hall,  where  sacred  parrots 
screamed  in  their  cages.  With  considerable 
trouble,  the  two  women  found  their  way 
among  the  pilgrims  at  the  gate  to  the  covered 
gallery. 

"Where  are  the  treasures  of  Minakshi?"  de- 
manded Parvati  of  her  companion. 

"There,  my  mistress,  at  the  center  of  the 
Prakaram." 

Madavi  drew  the  princess  toward  the  sec- 
ond inner  aisle  of  the  temple.  Beyond  was  an 
immense  hall.  Ordinarily,  the  place  was 
dark,  even  in  the  afternoon;  but  to-night  it 
blazed  with  torches. 

They  took  their  places  in  the  long  line  of 
people  waiting  a  turn  to  approach  the  table 
where  the  fairy  jewels  were  exhibited.  The 
space  immediately  around  the  table  was  roped 


274  PARVATI 

off,  and  three  Brahmans,  with  long  white 
beards,  stood  guard  over  the  amazing  treasure 
said  to  belong  to  the  goddess. 

Regretfully  Parvati  tore  herself  away  from 
the  fascination  of  the  jewels.  She  followed 
her  nurse  toward  the  altar  of  the  Constella- 
tions of  the  Planets.  This  place  exhaled  an 
agreeable  odor  of  mellow  fruit.  An  old 
priest  continually  sprayed  the  stones  of  its 
base  with  perfumed  oils. 

After  a  glance  at  a  thousand  columns  en- 
veloped in  shadows,  they  came  out  by  the  door 
of  Lakshmi.  Beggars  crowded  about — crip- 
ples and  blind  men,  or  simple  fakirs,  breathing 
a  benediction  or  a  curse,  according  as  people 
threw  them  a  coin  or  ignored  them.  And  the 
two  women  emptied  their  purses  into  dirty 
grasping  hands. 

"Don't  forget  me,  our  good  maharanee!" 
said  a  nasal  voice. 

Parvati  turned  around,  white  with  fear. 
Somebody  had  recognized  her  in  spite  of  her 
veil  I 

In  a  state  of  panic,  she  was  about  to  take 


PARVATI  275 

flight,  when  the  nurse  placed  a  hand  on  her 
arm.  With  a  smile,  Madavi  pointed  to  a 
poor,  humpbacked  beggar.  A  miserable  fel- 
low he  was,  cross-eyed  and  pitifully  thin. 

"Alas!"  sighed  the  princess,  "you  come  too 
late.  I  have  given  away  all  I  had." 

"May  your  cursed  life  pass  out  like  a  dog's !" 
he  muttered.  He  hobbled  away  with  the  leer 
of  a  hyena  on  his  face. 

"Shall  we  go  home  now?"  suggested  Ma- 
davi. 

And  Parvati  answered,  breathlessly, 

"Yes.     That  man  frightens  me." 


X 

You  have  been  a  sacrilegious  interpreter  of  your  god, 
whose  eternal  integrity  you  have  compromised  by  your 
treason.  All  perjury  diminishes  in  the  measure  of  the 
promise  betrayed,  the  very  being  of  him  who  accomplishes 
or  inspires  it. 

— VILLIERS  DE  L'lSLE-ADAM:  Akedysseril. 

"T?  K/  do!  tin!  tchar!  panch!  tche!  sat!" 
-1— '  They  counted  up  to  seven,  the  reveal- 
ing numbers,  dear  to  divinity.  Their  muscles 
were  tense.  They  panted  under  the  effort  they 
were  making.  Their  splendid  bronze  tor- 
sos were  dripping  with  sweat,  but  the  wheels 
were  deep  in  the  ruts,  and  the  chariot  refused 
to  move.  It  was  as  though  the  solid  weight 
had  taken  root  in  the  clay.  Broken  sea-shells 
and  cocoanuts  were  scattered  about  under  the 
wheels  in  the  hope  that  they  would  yield  to  the 
strength  of  a  thousand  strong  arms.  The 
whole  procession  of  priests,  torch-bearers,  mu- 
sicians, and  dancers  was  in  collision,  due  to 

276 


PAR  VAT  I  277 

the  sudden  halt;  and  it  moved  back  now, 
menaced  in  front  by  the  retreat  of  the  ele- 
phants, caparisoned  and  groomed  as  if  for  the 
hunt.  But  there  was  no  disorder,  for  this  in- 
cident occurred  each  year.  A  few  hundred 
more  human  arms  were  added  to  the  task. 
Would  their  strength  be  sufficient? 

An  appeal  was  made  for  levers  and  cables. 
Twenty  volunteers  straddled  tree-trunks  that 
had  been  cut  obliquely  at  one  extremity. 
With  a  mighty  and  united  push,  the  vehicle 
was  released.  Then  enthusiasm  knew  no 
bounds.  The  crowd  shouted  like  barbarians; 
the  tom-toms  and  the  flutes  and  the  bagpipes 
made  a  delirious  din. 

Between  a  double  line  of  prostrate  believers 
the  chariots  advanced.  Ten  youths  with 
trumpets,  grouped  upon  a  platform,  blew  a 
hollow,  deafening  bellow  announcing  the  pass- 
age of  Shiva,  the  Destroyer,  and  Minakshi,  his 
preferred  bride.  The  previous  evening,  be- 
fore taking  down  the  canopied  sheds  that 
had  sheltered  the  rolling  edifices,  slaves  had 
greased  the  hubs  with  oil.  Leather  thongs 


278  PARVATI 

had  been  tested,  and  reinforced  by  experts. 
The  harness  of  the  monstrous  wooden  horses 
placed  in  front  of  the  chariots,  had  been  re- 
painted and  gilded.  Silken  purple  curtains 
concealed  the  throne  of  the  idol.  Garlands  of 
yellow  and  white  flowers  were  hung  about  the 
immense  vehicles. 

The  two  women  had  been  caught  in  the 
crowd  and  forced,  in  spite  of  themselves,  to 
the  front  row  among  the  spectators.  From  a 
distance,  and  not  without  trepidation,  they 
watched  the  formidable  structures  approach- 
ing them.  Closely  pressed  against  each  other 
and  with  throbbing  hearts,  they  contemplated 
the  dazzling  vision. 

A  long,  low  murmur  suddenly  stirred  the 
Brahmans  and  the  guards  whose  powerful 
arms  dragged  the  first  carriage. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Parvati. 

The  nurse  leaned  forward  and  saw  two 
frightfully  mangled  bodies  being  picked  out 
from  under  the  front  wheels. 

"Fanatics,"  she  answered,  "who  have  thrown 
themselves  under  the  chariot  of  Shiva." 


PARVATI  279 

"It  is  horrible!"  stammered  the  princess, 
half-fainting. 

The  bodies  had  been  carried  away.  The 
procession  had  not  been  interrupted.  But  the 
priests,  in  honor  of  the  voluntary  martyrs,  in- 
toned the  hymn  of  Yajur-Veda: 

"Oh,  Brahma!  Splendid  sun,  be  willing  to  hear  our  vows! 

Let  our  vile  bodies  be  scattered  by  the  breath  of  the  winds, 

But  let  our  souls  be  saved ! 

We  have  committed  sins  without  number. 

Wash  us  clean  of  impurity  and  crime. 

Make  us  fit  to  inhabit  your  celestial  empire. 

Oh,  Brahma!     Show  us  the  way  to  felicity!" 

The  solid  wheels,  still  disgusting  with  blood 
and  spattered  brains,  turned  slowly,  creaking 
and  groaning.  Directly  in  front  of  the  char- 
iots marched  the  great  Brahmans,  delegates 
appointed  by  the  rajas  of  different  independent 
states.  Grouped  about  them  were  throngs  of 
Nirvanists,  bearing  torches.  Their  eyes  were 
the  haggard  eyes  of  beings  possessed. 

Parvati,  gently  elbowing  aside  her  neighbor 
toward  the  left,  a  woman  of  the  people  cov- 
ered with  jewels  and  silver  chains,  leaned  for- 


280  PARVATI 

ward,  dumb  with  an  irresistible  curiosity. 
She  could  not  take  her  eyes  from  the  advanc- 
ing group  that  was  only  a  few  steps  away  from 
her  now.  The  Brahmans  filing  by — some  old, 
others  young  and  unshaven — were  all  grave, 
austere,  inscrutable.  The  tallest  of  them,  a 
man  with  a  snowy  beard,  appeared  now  in  the 
first  row,  only  a  step  ahead  of  those  who  were 
dragging  the  chariot  of  Shiva.  And  with  a 
slight,  involuntary  movement,  he  turned  his 
head  toward  the  veiled  woman  who  was  such 
a  contrast  to  the  humble  crowd  about  her. 

The  princess  met  the  cold,  inquiring  look. 
A  scream  of  agony  and  fear  strangled  her. 
She  had  recognized  her  enemy  Khoudarsha, 
the  high  priest  of  Jeypore.  She  tried  to  run 
away,  and  in  her  frantic  struggle  to  slip 
through  the  crowd  her  veil  caught  on  the 
itediki  of  her  neighbor.  The  tulle  had  re- 
vealed her  face  in  the  torchlight  as  the  veil 
was  torn  away.  The  venerable  priest  had  seen 
the  stricken  face,  its  eyes  wide  with  terror. 
With  one  bound  he  leaped  beyond  the  torch- 
bearers,  and  seized  the  unfortunate  woman. 


PARVATI  281 

He  crushed  her  to  her  knees,  spitting  curses  in 
her  face: 

"You  dog!  To  deny  your  caste!  Sacri- 
lege! Prostitute  among  pariahs!  He  has 
driven  you  from  his  bed,  then,  your  foreigner 
— he  who  insults  our  gods!"  And  to  the 
fanatics,  in  a  thundering  voice :  "You  see  her, 
this  woman,  this  impostor,  this  courtezan? 
She  was  a  queen,  the  descendant  of  Surya  the 
Radiant.  She  threw  aside  everything — race, 
religion,  scepter,  country — for  the  infamous 
couch  of  a  foreigner!" 

"Mercy!  Pity!"  cried  Madavi  in  supplica- 
tion. "She  is  so  young!  She  did  not  know!" 

But  already  a  dozen  Nirvanists  were  sur- 
rounding the  two  women,  while  the  crowd, 
now  out  of  hand,  demanded, 

"Her  name!     Tell  us  her  name!" 

The  high  priest,  placing  his  hands  to  his 
mouth  to  make  a  trumpet,  shouted :  "Parvati, 
Maharanee  of  Jeypore!" 

The  crowd  was  clamoring.  The  chariot 
was  upon  them. 

"She  must  die,  curse  her!     She  must  die!" 


282  PARVATI 

There  was  a  struggle  among  the  Brahmans. 
The  princess  disappeared,  roughly  carried 
away  by  twenty  arms.  A  cry  of  agony.  The 
sound  of  bones  and  flesh  being  crushed. 

And  Shiva  the  Invisible  passed  by,  be- 
hind purple  silk  curtains. 


XI 

MRS.  WILLIAMS'S  inspection  was  fin- 
ished. In  the  main  ward  of  the  In- 
dian Civil  Hospital  of  Bombay,  she  was 
giving  final  instructions  to  the  surgical  nurses, 
when  a  boy  all  out  of  breath  pushed  his  way 
through  the  group  of  white-uniformed  attend- 
ants. With  a  respectful  bow,  he  handed  Mrs. 
Williams  a  letter. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  asked  the  doctor, 
with  a  little  frown.  "The  superintendent  left 
strict  orders  that  we  were  not  to  be  disturbed." 

"Excuse  me,"  answered  the  native  servant, 
with  a  smile  that  showed  his  white  teeth,  "but 
this  letter  was  given  me  just  now  by  the  drago- 
man of  the  French  Consul.  It  arrived  from 
Marseilles  this  morning  in  the  pouch.  It  is 
urgent.  The  consul  insisted  upon  its  being 
delivered  at  once." 

"That  was  quite  right,"  said  the  Irish- 
woman. "Give  it  to  me.  Thank  you." 

283 


284  PARVATI 

With  feverish  fingers  she  broke  the  seal  of 
the  envelop.  At  first,  as  she  rapidly  scanned 
its  contents,  her  face  expressed  immense  sur- 
prise, then  anxiety,  and  finally  increasing  agi- 
tation. She  went  pale,  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart,  and,  overcome  by  emotion,  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  Miss  Gannett 
showed  affection  that  was  more  than  profes- 
sional solicitude.  She  was  a  young  Phila- 
delphian  who,  with  the  devotion  of  a  tireless 
apostle,  had  been  nursing  cholera  cases  for 
nearly  three  years  in  the  Indian  Civil  Hos- 
pital. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Mrs.  Williams.  "Or 
— something  extraordinary — that  I  cannot  tell 
you.  I  mean — it  is  a  secret.  Imagine  getting 
a  letter  from  a  dear  friend  whom  for  two 
months  you  have  believed  to  be  dead ! — dead, 
through  a  terrible  event!  If  I  were  not  sure, 
as  I  am,  about  the  handwriting  and  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  postmarks,  I  should  believe 
myself  the  victim  of  an  hallucination.  But 
there  is  no  doubt  about  it.  This  letter  is  from 


PARVATI  285 

my  friend.  And  this  friend,  thank  God,  has 
escaped  death  in  such  an  incredible  way,  such 
a  miraculous  way,  that  it  makes  me  tremble 
still.  Excuse  me  now.  In  a  little  while  I 
will  see  you  in  the  superintendent's  office. 
Then,  if  you  like,  we  will  go  through  the  con- 
tagious wing,  where  you  are  the  good  fairy." 

Left  alone  in  the  white  ward  where  the  sun 
was  streaming  in,  hot  and  golden,  the  vice- 
president  of  the  Lady  Dufferin  Dispensary  re- 
read the  strange  letter  that  had  come  to  her 
from  Europe  across  the  seas : 

Dear  Mrs.  Williams: 

It  is  with  gratitude  that  I  write  you  the  first  letter 
from  the  country  that  is  from  now  on  to  be  my  one  and 
only  homeland — France.  As  I  write,  I  see  your  dear 
face,  and  I  think  of  the  good  you  did  me  when  I  was  the 
queen — powerful,  respected,  feted.  To-day,  I  am  none 
of  that — just  a  woman  in  love  who  will  become  to-mor- 
row the  wife  of  a  painter  of  genius.  To  my  family,  to 
the  friends  I  left  in  the  sacred  land  of  my  ancestors,  to 
India,  to  everybody  excepting  you,  my  darling,  I  am  dead, 
crushed  under  the  wheels  of  the  chariot  of  Shiva.  There 
is  no  Parvati.  She  who  used  to  bear  that  name,  who  used 
to  look  proudly  at  the  sun,  her  Rajput  ancestor,  is  no 
more.  Through  her  willingness  to  cross  the  black  ocean, 


286  PAR  VAT  I 

she  lost  her  caste.  Om  Brahma  kripai  kevolom!  Of  all 
that  she  was  in  the  past,  slipping  away  in  the  shadows  of 
her  memory,  there  remains  only  her  friendship  for  you. 
When,  on  your  way  to  London  and  Dublin,  you  see  her 
again  next  autumn  in  Paris,  you  will  not  be  able  to  recog- 
nize the  Hindu  girl,  proud  and  orthodox,  in  this  converted 
Christian,  who  is  now  humble  and  who  sees  clearly.  The 
last  bond  that  tied  her  to  her  religion,  to  her  gods,  and 
to  her  legends  will  be  broken.  Love  accomplishes  this 
miracle — love  and  death! 

To  your  loyal  and  tested  friendship,  I  owe  it  to  explain 
that  there  was  a  miracle,  a  double  miracle.  Ah!  my 
friend,  I  tremble  still,  and  I  wonder — I  who  write  this 
letter,  here  beside  my  beloved  Gilbert  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  a  Marseilles  hotel,  a  step  away  from  the  turbu- 
lent and  animated  Canebiere — whether  all  I  have  lived 
through  has  not  been  a  dream,  or  rather,  a  nightmare! 

Night  had  fallen.  After  the  furious  clamoring  of  a 
delirious  mob,  silence  had  come.  I  lay  almost  inanimate 
on  the  ground.  I  distinguished  the  confused  music  of 
tom-toms,  gongs,  and  bells;  the  horrible,  devastating  ma- 
chine withdrawing  toward  other  crimes,  new  intoxication ! 
Near  by,  a  white  form,  bloody,  shapeless.  Poor  Madavi ! 
She  did  not  want  to  survive  me.  It  was  she  who,  thrust- 
ing me  from  under  murderous  wheels,  sacrificed  her  life 
to  save  mine.  I  did  not  move.  I  seemed  not  to  feel  any- 
thing. I  fainted.  Then  I  waited  minutes  that  seemed 
centuries.  I  was  waiting  for  the  final  blow  to  crush  me. 
Then  voices.  Two  Nirvanists  were  approaching  us  with 
soft  padded  footsteps.  They  were  coming  to  carry  away 


PAR  VAT  I  287 

our  bodies  and  burn  them  on  a  pyre,  according  to  the 
rites.  Thus  I  saw  the  remains  of  my  beloved  nurse  dis- 
appear. My  turn  came. 

Now  the  miracle.  The  fanatic  who  held  me  in  his 
arms  lingered.  He  meant  to  put  a  greater  distance  be- 
tween him  and  his  companions.  At  a  turn  in  the  road  he 
suddenly  went  more  slowly,  and  stopped.  The  moon  was 
shining.  I  opened  my  eyes  and  stifled  a  cry. 

"Kousha!" 

The  man's  face  lighted  up  with  joy,  and  he  put  a  finger 
to  his  lips.  I  understood.  Endless  wandering  through" 
palms  toward  the  station,  where  instinctively  my  rescuer 
was  taking  me.  You  may  guess  the  rest,  my  friend.  But 
what  you  can  never  imagine  is  the  night  we  passed — Gil- 
bert, the  pariah,  and  I — hearing  every  sound,  the  slightest 
indication  that  could  make  us  think  that  the  enemy — and 
what  an  enemy ! — was  on  our  trail.  How  far  away  it  all 
seems  to  me,  now  that  I  am  safe  in  this  hospitable  land 
of  liberty,  safe  with  the  love  I  have  chosen ! 

"But  Kousha?"  you  ask.  It  is  true,  I  have  not  told  you 
his  story,  how  this  admirable  creature  figured  in  my  final 
escape.  Chance — rather,  the  divine  intervention  of  the 
Christ  in  whom  I  now  believe — brought  him  to  Madura 
with  his  brother  Nirvanists,  the  terrible  P'aousigars.  In 
a  twinkling  he  had  understood  all:  the  anathema  of  the 
great  priest  Khoudarsha,  the  delirious  mysticism  of  the 
Shaivas,  and  the  necessity,  if  he  was  going  to  save  me,  of 
showing  himself  among  the  most  fanatic  of  my  assailants. 
Good  Kousha's  fate  is  now  the  same  as  ours:  I  am  no 
longer  Maharanee,  and  he  is  no  longer  Pariah.  Gilbert 


288  PARVATI 

has  him  as  his  inseparable  valet,  and  he  will  pose  for  our 
next  canvas  for  the  autumn  Salon  in  Paris. 

Good-by,  darling!  I  am  not  selfish  in  my  love.  I 
think  of  you  tenderly  as  the  most  generous  heart  I  knew 
in  what  I  call  my  other  life.  It  seems  as  though  I  had 
been  born  a  few  hours  ago,  and  I  am  so  happy  that  I  ask 
myself  whether  the  past  really  existed. 

The  doctor  smiled,  then  sighed  deeply. 
Before  her  wet  eyes  was  the  image  of  the 
dear  and  glorious  soul  that  had  illuminated 
— so  ephemerally,  alas! — her  early  married 
life,  whose  body  rested  back  there  under  a 
South  African  tumulus  in  the  Transvaal  in  the 
little  cemetery  of  Bloemfontein,  beside  those 
of  other  British  heroes  fallen  on  the  field  of 
honor.  Her  lips  trembled  in  a  mute  prayer. 

Then,  straightening  up,  she  moved  with  a 
firm  step  toward  the  contagious  ward. 


THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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